Firestorm

18

Murdock broke off the swim at two miles and before they reached the announced halfway goal of Zuniga Point on the far end of North Island. The SEALS had entered the water wearing their cammies, masks, and flippers. Murdock led them at an even stroke knowing precisely how fast to swim to cover a mile in thirty-five minutes.

After two miles he signaled for a halt and turned the men around.

"Jaybird, take the con, lead us back to the home beach in exactly an hour and ten minutes."

"That's a roger, sir." Jaybird was not the best swimmer in the platoon, but now it didn't matter. The men would move at the pace he set. A light breeze had picked up and the ocean showed an occasional whitecap. The water was not summer-warm yet — about sixty degrees, Murdock figured. It had often been much colder. Top summer sunshine might boom it to sixty-nine or seventy-four degrees, but that would be the top of the scale.

Open-ocean swimming is not easy with the swells and the current. Now the small chop and the whitecaps made it that much tougher. "Remember that four-knot current we'll be going against," Murdock told Jaybird. The Platoon Chief waved and struck out for the distant shoreline just off the SEAL training base.

They had stayed on top of the water since they didn't have any breathing gear. Once they came to a small school of eight-inch jelly fish, their long arms trailing into the water.

Jaybird slanted them around the hundred or so creatures. They weren't the hard-stinging kind, but could bring a welt.

Once, looking seaward, Murdock saw a half-dozen Pacific porpoises jumping and playing around the hull of a two-masted sailing ship.

Nothing else distracted the SEALS from a relaxing afternoon swim in the bright blue Pacific Ocean.

Jaybird led them up the beach across from the grinder, and Murdock checked his watch.

"You're two minutes early, Jaybird. Guess it's better to be early rather than late. On a hot mission what would you have done?"

Jaybird took off his mask and picked up his flippers. "On a mission I would have checked my time of arrival. If I was early, I'd have kept the platoon at least five hundred meters offshore and waited for the exact time to hit the beach."

"Good. Now, the rest of the day is free. Tomorrow we really get down to the business of training. We should have the three new men we talked about. If all goes well, they should report in tonight. Get them set up with gear and equipment."

"Yes, sir. What's up for tomorrow?"

"A surprise, Platoon Chief, even for you. Arrange with the mess for a patrol-type full breakfast for the platoon at 0430. We'll be in transport by 0530."

The Third Platoon formed up in two squads and double-timed across the sand and into SEAL country. Murdock found Ed Dewitt waiting for him in his office.

"Those three replacements are here. I sent them over to supply. Master Chief Mackenzie said Jaybird would get them outfitted when he got back. Is that Chinese guy the linguist?"

"He is. He speaks a whole pot full of languages. I just wish he knew Arabic. I figure we're going to have some more Near Eastern time before long. You like the looks of the three?"

"I do. Especially the big guy, Ronson. He going to be the HW man?"

"How did you guess? How are you feeling? Any more dizziness?"

"No. I just got the wrong meds. Fit for duty. What's on for tomorrow?"

Murdock took a sheet of paper from the top drawer of his desk and handed it to his second in command. Dewitt read the first few lines and then scanned it.

"We're back in Hell Week, only it's for just two days," Dewitt said.

"You want to come along? You do everything the rest of us do including the survival drill."

Dewitt read the paper again. Slowly he shook his head. "I can't make it through all those exercises and tests and drills with this damn broken arm."

"True. You want that week's leave or should I put through a light-duty form for you?"

"You cleared this training with the Commander?"

"No. The facility is not being used for the next three days. I reserved two of them. We leave at 0530 tomorrow."

"Masciarelli is not going to be thrilled, as you know."

"Keeping my platoon in top condition is my responsibility. I checked with the motor pool and we'll have a twenty-passenger bus ready and waiting."

Dewitt squirmed in his chair.

Murdock took three pills from the plastic bottle on his desk and downed them with some lukewarm coffee. He looked at his friend and combat buddy. "So, which way are you going?"

"Seattle for four days. About all I'll be able to stand. Then I'll be back here and working out with you whenever I can do the drill."

"Done. Master Chief Mackenzie will take care of your leave and your transport. Have a good visit with the family."

"I'll try. Provided you get the rest of that shrapnel out of your ass so we don't have to call you Old Ironbutt anymore."

The twenty-seat bus had rolled out of SEAL country at 0528 the following morning with all fifteen SEALS of Third Platoon on board. Murdock had had to go to the CO of the motor pool to get permission for Red Nicholson to drive the bus. He had a military driver's license, and said he used to drive a school bus.

They had loaded up the rig with all of the ammo, weapons, and gear they would need for their two-day stay. There was plenty of field rations and supplies, but no blankets or sleeping bags. The men had noticed that up front.

"What the hell is this, fucking Hell Week all over again?" Martin "Magic" Brown had asked, his black face more curious than angry.

"How do you get a week jammed into two days?" Ron Holt had asked.

"With a fucking SEAL shoehorn," Jaybird had screeched, and they all had laughed.

The bus had rolled down the Silver Strand highway into Coronado. Murdock got mad when anyone called it Coronado Island. Even some of the people who lived there called it an island. They should have known better. Radio and TV newscasters were always calling it Coronado Island. Actually, it is a large bulge on the end of a long narrow strip of land that encloses San Diego Bay and is called the Silver Strand. Technically Coronado is on the end of a peninsula. A peninsula is described as a portion of land nearly surrounded by water and connected to a larger land mass by an isthmus. An isthmus is a narrow strip of land connecting two larger land masses. Murdock had long ago given up correcting people aboutcoronado. It irritated him, and he made sure that his men knew the difference, but he'd given up on the rest of the English-speaking world.

The bus had gone across the graceful Coronado-San Diego Bay Bridge, turned south on Interstate 5, and then slanted off on California Highway 15 north toward Interstate 8. Once on 8, the bus had nosed east heading for the desert.

"We going to the fucking desert?" Jaybird had asked.

"Now that you mention it, why don't we?" Murdock had rasped. "You guys haven't had a shot at the Chocolate Mountains in months now."

"I'm getting thirsty already," Ross Lincoln had said.

"Hold that thought," Murdock had said. "You'll be a hell of a lot thirstier before the next forty-eight hours are over."

"Forty-eight?" Doc Ellsworth had asked. "Sheeeet. We can do that without even changing our wad of chewing gum."

Jaybird had been more cautious. "L-T you didn't let me get in on the planning of this one. You got some secrets for us?"

Murdock had grinned and waved at him and closed his eyes. He'd been ready for a three-hour ride out Highway 8 past Boulevard to where it swept within a mile of the Mexican border at Jucumba, and on to Ocotillo and into the desert town of El Centro. From there it was a short run due north to Niland and the Navy's Chocolate Mountain Gunnery Range.

Three hours later the bus stopped at the small headquarters building, and the L-T went inside to check in and confirm the time of stay. Then the bus moved out to the far end of the long bombing range and parked. This would be their home base for the next two days.

The desert was the same. A little scrub growth, sagebrush, cacti all over the place, and a dusky range of low rolling hills called the Chocolate Mountains eastward from the Coachilla Canal. The SEALS wore their desert cammies, and now put on their American Body Armor operations vests with pouches for ammo and radio and grenade pouches on the web belt. There was no bullet-proofing body armor as such on the webbing.

Each man had ammo to fit his issue weapon. Today all carried the HK MP-5SD, except for the specialists. One HW man in each squad had a Mcmillan M-88.50-caliber sniper rifle that could knock down a man from two kilometers away. The other HW men had the new-issue Heckler & Koch 21A1 machine gun. It fires the 7.62 NATO round at nine hundred rounds per minute. Two vest pouches held rounds. Range was up to 1,100 meters. And it would take any of the NATO loads from AP incendiary to tracers and ball.

Doc Ellsworth carried his favorite, a Remington 870 12-gauge pump shotgun with the barrel cut off at the end of the magazine and only a pistol grip instead of a stock. It held five deadly rounds of double-aught buck that could cut a man in half at twenty feet.

All had as backup the new Heckler & Koch Mark 23 Model 0 Special Operation Offensive handgun system. This double-action pistol had a twelve-round magazine of.45-caliber, and a decocking lever that silently lowered a fully cocked hammer. A screw-on Knight sound suppressor hushed the rounds, but added seven inches of length to the stock weapon, making it 16.6 inches long with a weight of four pounds.

It was big and heavy and extra long with the silencer on. Part of that could be solved by attaching the suppressor only when it was time to use the weapon.

Each man carried 50 more than the regular ammo issue for his weapon and one canteen of water.

Murdock had the men fall in, and put Jaybird in charge of the Second Squad.

"We'll start out with a casual little two-mile run. I know it's early and the place hasn't even started to heat up. It can't be more than about eighty degrees out, so it'll be a walk in the park for you guys. We'll all carry the new HK forty-fives, so get used to them. What's another four pounds for tough guys like us? Let's move out."

They did a mile out on a marked cross-country course, and a mile back to the bus. Their time was a ragged eight minutes a mile.

Murdock shook his head. "You pack rats are out of shape. Too much garrison life."

"Yeah, we been back all of four days now," Scotty Frazier popped off. They all laughed.

"One drink. Remember that canteen has to last you one hell of a long time. Next, Ron Holt is going to give us a refresher course on the HK forty-five hideout we carry. A sixteen-inch hideout. We'll go out to Range A for that little schooling. Ron, move these innocents out to slaughter."

There had been little use of the HK.45-caliber pistol in their last engagement in Lebanon. It was too easily traced to the U.S. and it had been too heavy along with all of the other large-caliber firepower they had packed along. So they had left it on the ship.

Now was the time to get intimately reacquainted with the little weapon that could be the last line of defense for the SEALS in some combat situation.

They sat in the sand near Range A, field-stripped the weapon, oiled it, and put it back together. Ron Holt walked them through the process and told them the strong points of the weapon and what to be careful of.

"This weapon has more of a recoil than the 9mm jobs we've been used to," he said. "Allow a scosh bit more aiming time. It's going to rise on you no matter how strongly you hold it. Remember, you've got twelve shots, so make each one count.

"Now, let's draw some ammo and see what you can do at twenty yards."

They fired for half an hour. Each man put more than a hundred rounds through his pistol before they all did a final shoot at paper targets with a case of beer on the line for the winner, when they got off duty.

"I'll fire, but I'm not in the competition," Holt said. "But if any of you wildmen can beat my score, I'll make that two cases of beer."

They fired six shots each on the test. Three men got all the shots in the bull. But Holt's rounds all touched each other to beat the rest. Joe Lampedusa won the contest. Holt turned the show back to the L-T.

"Gentlemen," Murdock said, "the fun is only beginning. We'll double-time out to the edge of the Coachella Canal, and get in some quality training time."