Firestorm

17

Doc Ellsworth dropped to both knees beside Lieutenant Dewitt. He looked at his face, then gently eased the SEAL sideways until he sat on the hard sand.

Dewitt shook his head and rubbed his face with his right hand.

"So damn dizzy. Can't figure it out. Where the hell am I?"

"Sir! Lieutenant Dewitt." Doc shook his shoulder gently. "You stumbled and went down. Complained of being dizzy. Sir, do you know where you are?"

"Damned grinder somewhere." He shook his head again, blinked, and stared at Doc. "Hi, Ellsworth, what's happening?"

"You stumbled, sir, and fell. How are you feeling?"

"Stumbled? Damn. Feeling? Oh, a little woozy, like a cheap drunk. What have I been drinking?"

"Only coffee, sir. It could be the pain pills they gave you at sick call. What meds are you taking?"

Dewitt blinked. "Pills?"

"Yes, sir, we'll figure that out later. Just sit still." Doc turned to Murdock. "A jeep would come in handy, sir."

Murdock looked over at his platoon, which had stopped on his curt command earlier. "Drop the logs on three. One, two, three. Nicholson. See how fast you can run up to the grinder and bring back some transport for the L-t. Anything that rolls and he can sit in. Go, go, go!"

Nicholson had the best foot speed of anybody in the squad. He had run the 220 in high school.

"L-T, we've got some transport coming for you," Doc said. "Just take it easy."

Dewitt frowned and brushed the wet sand off his knees with his right hand. "What the hell am I doing sitting in this fucking wet sand? Doc, answer me. Why am I sitting here?"

"You had a dizzy spell, Sir. Almost passed out. I'd guess it's a reaction to some of the meds sick bay gave you. What are you taking?"

"Don't know. Said three a day so I'm taking three a day. Bottle is in my quarters."

Murdock had been listening. He straightened up and looked at his Platoon Chief. "Jaybird. Get those logs hoisted to shoulders and take the troops back to the toothpick pile. Then fall out around the tower climb. If nobody is on it, put each man up five times. We'll be along as soon as we can."

Twenty minutes later, Nicholson came racing down the wet sand in a white Shore Patrol Van with the red light on the top blinking. The rig eased up to them and stopped three feet from Dewitt.

"Let's try to stand up, L-T," Doc said.

"Hell, I can stand up." Dewitt tried, almost made it. Then Murdock caught one arm and Doc the other and they helped him take three steps to the van door and slide into the front seat.

Murdock fastened the seat belt around his 2IC. "Drive easy going back, sailor," Murdock told the Shore Patrol behind the wheel. Doc climbed in the back seat.

"Yeah, easy as it goes," Doc said. "I want the L-T in one piece when we get to the infirmary."

Red Nicholson and Murdock watched the van cut across the soft sand to the highway, turn left, and head toward SEAL headquarters. Nicholson and Murdock began double-timing along the hard sand.

"Is the L-T bad off?" Nicholson asked.

"Not sure. Might just be a reaction to some of the pain medication. At least I hope that's it. That damn broken arm is giving him fits."

Murdock met his men at the tower climb. All the SEALS had done two climbs. He watched them do three more, then had the troops do twenty push-ups with him leading them.

That was when Murdock remembered the three men he had called over to interview at 1100 hours. It was almost 11 30 hours. They would still be there. He turned the platoon over to Jaybird, and told him to get them to mess and have them ready at 1400 hours with cammies and floppy hats. Jaybird nodded.

Murdock took off at a ground-eating lope across the highway to his office. The three SEALS in garrison cammies sat on chairs just inside Jaybird's office. They jumped to attention when Murdock came through the door.

"Reporting to the lieutenant as ordered, sir!" one man said.

Murdock recognized him from his picture and the fact that he was at least six feet four.

"Ronson, into my office. I'll be with you other two in short order."

He paused to get some breath back. "Bishop, Ching, glad you showed up. Relax."

Ronson followed Murdock into his office, and the other two SEALS sat down.

Murdock liked the looks of Ronson on first sight. He was big, he was rugged-looking, even with his shirt on. He could pack a Mcmillan.50 if he had to.

Ronson sat stiffly in the visitor's chair.

"Relax, sailor, you're among friends. You have your trident, I see. How long in SEALS?"

"Three years, Sir. I was with SEAL Team Three, but caught a slug and took some Balboa time. They filled my slot, so I've been unassigned for a while."

"Ever handled a Mcmillan fifty?"

Ronson's eyes lit up and he grinned. He relaxed then and nodded. "Yes, sir. Sweetheart of a weapon. My favorite. Course I like the M-60 too, along with a thousand rounds. I was the AW man with Three. I hear Seven has the new HK 21A1 machine gun. It's a beauty. I fired it once in training. Damn things never break down."

"You married, Ronson?"

"No, sir."

"Your nickname is Horse?"

"Right. But I really can't carry that much." They both laughed.

"Ronson, how would you like to get into Platoon Three of SEAL Seven?

We're on call by some heavy hitters and just lost three men wounded on our last social visit. You'll get all the action you want with us."

"Like to be with you, sir. Heard good things about Seven."

"I'll send the paperwork through this afternoon. Get your gear ready to move into the Platoon Three of Seven rest home."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"On your way out, tell Ching to come in."

Ronson hurried out with a grin as wide as an IBS paddle.

Murdock talked to the other two men. They looked as good in person as they had on the personnel sheet. He signed them on and then put a call into the small infirmary they had on base. He went through two nurses, then got the doctor who had just seen Ed Dewitt.

"Nothing serious, Lieutenant. Looks like those pills he was taking dehydrated him. That walk in the sun didn't help matters. I've changed his medication and put him on light duty for a week. See if you can get him to take a leave for a week."

"Good idea, Doc, I'll do just that. Thanks for the good news."

He hung up and tried to figure how he could discourage Dewitt from taking part in as much training as he wanted to. He shuffled some papers on his desk, then had an idea.

The brass had not been pleased with the amount of equipment and weapons they'd lost and written off as combat casualties in Lebanon. Commander Dean Masciarelli, the CO of Team Seven, wanted some better explanations than the formal ones that Jaybird had sent through channels after their mission.

Just the small task for Lieutenant Dewitt to take care of this afternoon.

He looked at some of the paperwork on his desk and gave up. He called Navy Special Warfare Unit One, got through to personnel, and asked to have the three SEALS he'd interviewed transferred to Team Seven Third Platoon at once. Chief Murphy there knew Murdock, and said he'd cut the orders and send over a personnel request form for Murdock to fill out and get back to him yesterday.

While he was talking on the phone, Dewitt came in and slumped in the chair beside Murdock's desk. Murdock hung up.

"So, when's the funeral?" Murdock asked.

"No funeral, just some damn pills that dehydrated me to hell and gone. I'm fine now. Fit for duty."

Murdock nodded. "Good. I've got something here that has to be taken care of today. Masciarelli didn't like our 'loss during combat' report. I want you to go over there and explain it to him, item by item. We save the fucking treasury a few hundred thousand million in counterfeit hundred-dollar bills and Masciarelli is worried about a thousand-dollar weapon or two."

"Figured Jaybird sent that report in," Dewitt said.

"He did, but Masciarelli has forgotten his days on the grinder. He's getting officerfied. Go over there this afternoon and stroke him and placate him and explain any aspect of the mission he doesn't understand. You can do it. He'll believe it coming from you even if you say the same things that Jaybird wrote."

"Right after the swim?"

"Who said anything about a swim?"

"Figures. I know how you think. We did that seven miles with the log this morning. You'll want to really stretch these guys with a five-mile swim in the bay."

"Not a chance. It's a ten-miler in the ocean. We'll go from here to Zuniga Point on the tip of North Island and back."

"That's only seven miles, Boss. I've made that swim too often."

"So I'm mellowing in my old age. It's a seven-mile swim. Enough for a warmup, especially with a four-knot tide working to the north."

"Just as glad I'm not going. You have a copy of Jaybird's report?"

Murdock handed him the three pages.

"Did you get me an appointment with the old man or do I just drop by?"

"I'd call him and set it up. He's getting very Navy all of a sudden."

"I'll win this one for the Gipper."

"You didn't even play football."

"Is that what the Gipper is all about? Damn me."

Jaybird slipped in the door with a cold Coke and a pair of hamburgers and put them in front of Murdock.

"Figured you didn't get any chow, Skipper. Don't want you to pass out on our swim this afternoon."

"Who said anything about a swim?"

"Nobody. Just figures. How far?"

"Point Zuniga round trip."

"Good, I was figuring ten miles. You still want the troops ready at 1400?"

"Yeah, right. That'll give my burgers time to digest."

Lieutenant Edward Dewitt brushed his flattop with his good right hand and stared hard at Murdock. Then he chuckled.

"You set me up, didn't you?"

Murdock laughed and flipped him a French fry he had found with his burgers. "Yeah. A habit. Comes with the stripe. That Seattle ticket is still open, on me."

Dewitt took a long breath. He crinkled his brow, then shook his head. "Fuck no, I'm having too much fun here."