Death Blow

27

They kept moving straight ahead as Murdock had ordered. Each man who weighed as much or more than Canzoneri’s 190 pounds was detailed to carrying him. The man packing Canzoneri farmed out his webbing and vest and weapon to others. The assignment was for a quarter of a mile. Then the next man took over.

It worked remarkably well. There were six men in the platoon who outweighed the injured man. Murdock took the first carry and kept his position as second in the line of march with Lam out in front and the rest stretched out behind at five-yard intervals.

They went down the next ridge and across another valley.

“Why can’t we follow more of these snarks downstream a ways?” Ching asked.

He knew the answer before he finished the frustrated question. Obviously, the downstream direction was not the one they wanted to take.

Murdock turned the carrying job over to Howie Anderson after almost a half mile. He was winded but not done in. After that he would make sure they stuck to the quarter-mile distance.

They moved a little slower. The up and down ridge lines slowed them more and Lam estimated they were doing well to get three miles an hour.

Slightly after 2000, Lam called a halt. “Better take a look up here, gents,” he said on the net. Everyone worked forward to another ridge line. This one had a scattering of taller brush than they had seen lately. Now the sound of gunfire and bursting shells could be heard plainly. In the distance almost due west they could see some flashes as the larger shells exploded.

“An artillery exchange?” Murdock suggested.

“Maybe, but what are those machine guns doing?” Ed DeWitt asked. “Artillery would be four to six miles between the shooters.”

“Supporting an infantry attack,” Lam said.

They watched the flashes. Most of them were coming from the right-hand side of the battle area.

“How far away are they?” Jaybird asked.

Lam frowned. He knew it was coming. “I’d say not over two miles for the strongest artillery hits.”

“Let’s swing on a forty-five to the left,” Murdock said. Lam headed out on that bearing and Paul Jefferson lifted Canzoneri on his back and claimed the second spot in the line of march. So far they had been through the six men and were ready to start over.

“Jeff, I’m sorry man that I fucked up and got in the way of that round.”

“Shut up, Canzoneri. Not your fault. My job to get you down the line another quarter. So let’s ride happy back there.”

They had slowed again. After another mile, Murdock called a halt. He and Lam went up a ridge that looked higher than the others hoping they could see the battle area. They could.

“Holy shit, look at that,” Lam said.

In front of them a broad valley opened that looked to be ten miles long and half that wide. In the middle of it they could see tracers and hear small arms, and machine guns firing. The big guns pounded farther back. There was a war on down there, infantrymen, and on a flat fighting surface.

“My guess the international border runs right through the middle of the valley, half in China, half in India,” Murdock said. “A damn good spot to hold a battle.”

Lam studied the area in the sometimes moonlight. A cloud scudded away from the moon and he stared through his binoculars. “If we can get down another mile, we can hit the very edge of the valley and creep along it into India. We should be two, maybe three miles from the fighting.”

“But you can bet that both sides will have patrols and lookouts in the areas,” Murdock said.

“So, we watch them. Take them out with the EAR. Is there any battery left on it?

Murdock shook his head. He’d checked.

Murdock took over the carry work as they climbed down the side of a steeper ridge and headed for the flat lands of the valley. Franklin’s arm wound broke open and they stopped to let Mahanani rebandage it. Then they moved again. DeWitt brought up the rear.

A half hour later, Lam and Murdock looked out past a pair of good-size trees at the valley. They were fifty feet off the floor itself and could see where the fighting raged. The artillery still probed. The ground fighting was about a mile across the valley from them.

“This side should be best,” Murdock said. “We work along the side, just off the valley itself. A lot more trees and brush here we can hide in if we have to. You stay out front two hundred and keep in constant contact with your Motorola. Let me know what you see, what you hear, what the brush is like, everything. Be a chatterbox.”

“You got it, Skipper.”

When the troops came up, Mahanani carried Canzoneri like he was no more than a second pack. The big Hawaiian’s 240 pounds did the job easily.

Murdock and the rest of the SEALs heard Lam.

“Working along the side of the valley,” Lam said. “Almost across from the fighting. Looks like the two sides are dug in about two hundred yards apart. Deadly no-man’s-land in the middle. Bush is thick here. Moving closer to the valley. Hold it, a patrol.”

The ear pieces went silent for thirty seconds.

“Okay, troops, that was close. Finally made out that it was a Chicom bunch, eight of them working along the edge of the valley, watching for line crossers, my guess. So keep twenty yards up in the brush and move slowly. No rush now. Maybe the next patrol I spot will be the Indians.

“Yeah, okay. The brush thins. I’m actually directly across from the fighting now. An occasional round comes this way, but not often. Fighting seems to be slacking off. No more MGs that I can hear. A little bit of rifle fire. Even the big stuff has gone silent. Now the patrols will be out in force. Wait a few, visitors.”

Again the radio speakers went silent. It was two minutes this time before Lam came back on.

“Oh, yeah. That was closer. This bunch of six Chicoms poked into the brush. I had to go flat and not move. One guy would have stepped on me, but his sergeant called him back two steps before I’d be greasepaint. They’re gone now. Watch for this bunch. I’m going to hold up and make contact with you. Have a feeling I’m too far ahead of you. Skipper?”

“Good idea, Lam. Not sure how far ahead you are. We saw the one Chinese patrol but not the second. Hold there.”

Five minutes later Murdock saw the second Chinese patrol. They had left the edge of the valley and moved out fifty yards working silently forward.

Murdock looked around a few yards later and Lam stood beside him.

“How do you do that?”

“I’m half Apache, didn’t I tell you,” Lam said grinning. “I’ll stay in better touch. I’d say another half mile and we could be in Indian territory. I don’t expect a welcome gate, but there could be a marker fence of some kind.” He vanished into the brush ahead without making a sound.

Murdock knew that his platoon had slowed. The horses were getting tired. Canzoneri was a load. Murdock had done duty three times so far and it was starting to tell. His legs felt a little rubbery, and he hadn’t felt that often in his SEAL career.

Past a thick growth of brush, Murdock found Lam leaning against a tree.

“We’ve got an outpost ahead. Sand-bagged bunker with two machine guns sticking out of it. One is a fifty, the other a thirty, I’d guess or comparable. I’ve heard at least four men in the bunker. Not sure what is behind it or how we get to it. There are firing lanes cut into the brush back fifty yards. That’s fifty yards we need to cross to get to the bunker. Let me borrow your NVGs.”

Lam took the night vision goggles and vanished for a pair of minutes. When he came back he nodded. “Oh, damn, they have NVGs too. One of them lifted up to check something in the goggles, and I nailed him, spotted him. Which means it will take me a few minutes longer. I’m going to circle around and come up behind them. I’m counting on their not having any mine fields in this area. If so, I’m so much canned mush. If I can get around them and come up and talk to them, I’ll keep my lip mike open, and tell you when to come across.”

“Any other way?” Murdock asked.

“Not unless you want to blast them out of there with the twenties, or knock them out with the EAR. Don’t think they would appreciate either one.”

“You’re sure these are Indians and not Chicoms?”

“Dead sure, Cap. I heard one of them chattering away in English. It’s the second language in India.”

“Go.”

“Get all of our people down in good cover positions in case I mess up and that fifty starts whacking away. Make damn sure everyone is protected. Those fifties would cut right through here even out of the firing lanes.”

“Roger that, now move.”

It took Murdock five minutes to get everyone down and behind a tree or log or rock for good protection. Then they waited to hear from Lam.

Lam worked into the brush at a right angle turn away from the bunker. He moved without a sound, without breaking a stick. When he was fifty yards away from the valley, he did a due west turn and moved a hundred yards through the thinning brush and a few trees. Then did another right angle turn toward the valley. This should put him a hundred yards behind the bunker. He could watch for backup and any camped out troops in support. Twenty feet from the edge of the woods, he found a rough road that ran toward the bunker. He kept near it yet still in the brush.

Just behind the bunker were six small two-man tents laid out in a neat company row. Yes. Good. He moved closer and now could hear the men in the bunker talking. Some spoke what he figured was Hindi. Others spoke English. Definitely Indian and not Chinese. He moved closer, watched a shift change. He was six feet from the back entrance to the bunker when an officer came out. He said something to the men inside in English then turned to head for the small tents.

When he turned, Lam stood directly in front of him with both hands up, his weapon slung around his neck.

“I’m a friend, an American, we need your help. We intend you no harm. Hey, we’re on your side.”

The man’s face went taut, his eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open. Then he gave a yell.

“Americans? You’re the U.S. Navy SEALs we’ve been told to watch for. It’s been all over the military radio on this end of India for the past two days.”

“We’re SEALs. Lost our transport inside China and have been looking for you. Can our people come on in? They’re out in front of your firing lanes about fifty yards.”

“Yes, yes. You have a radio. Just a minute.” The officer went into the bunker. “Hold your fire. Friendlies coming in. Hold your fire.”

He came out. “Tell your people to come in. How many?”

“Fourteen of us and one is wounded. Do you have any medical people here?”

“Just an outpost. You must have seen the fighting. We have a field hospital up there five miles. I’ll get a jeep down here to take your man to the medics. We have two choppers that can transport you. Take you down to Purnia, then on to Calcutta. Let me phone my Commander. He’ll be overjoyed to know you’re safe.”

Less than twenty-four hours later, the SEALs landed in Calcutta. Medics at the field hospital had treated Canzoneri’s leg. It had become infected, and they did what they could and sent him along with the rest of the SEALs.

In Calcutta he went to the best civilian hospital in town under Don Stroh’s direction and the SEALs settled down in their semipermanent quarters on the military airfield nearby. Franklin’s arm was cleaned out, stitched up and bandaged and he was returned to duty.

Murdock tried to find the chopper pilot of the 46 who had chickened out on them in China. Don Stroh lent his efforts and at last they tracked him down and got his name, rank, and serial number. Murdock wrote a scathing after-action report especially for the air operations officer who had the pilot under his command.

Murdock asked that the man be court-martialed for cowardice under fire and desertion of troops in a combat situation. He gave a second by second account of the incident and the resulting abandonment of fourteen U.S. Navy SEALs in the wilds of hostile China. When he was through he had two pages of single-spaced accusations. He made six copies and sent one to the pilot’s commanding officer, one to the CNO, one to the temporary field where the choppers flew from in northern India. He gave the rest to Don Stroh to see what good he could do with them. Then he took a long, hot shower and hit his rack for fourteen hours. He couldn’t remember being so tired or worn out in his life.

The next morning, Ed DeWitt woke him up.

“Hey, fourteen hours in the sack should be enough. Stroh said not to bother you, but I figured you’d want to know. We have twenty-four hours to get out of here. I mean get out of the Far East or wherever the hell this is. Hey, Murdock, do you understand? We’re done here. We’re used up. Don Stroh said to pull us out now. We’re going home on commercial air, first class. We’re getting class A uniforms and traveling cash. We should be home in two days.”

Murdock had come out of his long sleep slowly, but the news about going home did the trick. “Home, yes. Good. What about Canzoneri?”

“He’s on the manifest. He’s fit to travel. We’re all getting out of here and Stroh is going along to smooth out any problems.”

“Stroh as our traveling companion. Now that will be a treat. What about the big war?”

“Simmering down. Now there is only sporadic fighting in Pakistan. The Chicoms bit off a bigger mouthful than they could chew. Looks like during this whole mess China was after the huge oil reserve that Pakistan has. That was their purpose all along. Now it looks like China will pull out of Pakistan and they will get the contract to build a huge pipeline from Pakistan into China to a refinery complex. So looks like China got what it wanted after all.”

“Yeah, but they’ll have to pay for the oil. The other way they could simply steal it. Good old Chicoms are at it again.” Murdock rubbed his face trying to get fully awake. “Was it a bad dream or do I remember you saying something about Don Stroh is flying home with us?”

“That’s the word.”

“Wow, wow, wow. Isn’t that going to be a bucket of fun.”