Flashpoint

27

Murdock moved his men as close to the highway as the terrain permitted. He had cover to within forty yards of the road. He and the rest of the platoon were fifty yards from the searchlight with the beam pointed the other way. It was dark on this side for as far as he could see to the south.

He used the Motorola. “Okay, Lam, take out the lights.”

The sound of the 20mm round exploding on the nearest six-foot-high searchlight came almost at once. The light died. A moment later, the other light two hundred yards away exploded as well, and the beams of light coming toward where the SEALs lay snapped off.

“Let’s move up slowly, watching everything,” Murdock said. “Go now. Walk. We don’t want any surprises. Over this highway and then we hope to make it to the beach in a rush. Easy now.”

The line of SEALs spread ten yards apart moved toward the moonlit blacktop road. They heard some voices to the right where the searchlights had shone. No sounds came from directly ahead. They worked through a shallow ditch at the side of the highway and went up the shoulder. Murdock watched the far side of the roadway where it dropped off six or eight feet to the beach sand. He could see nothing.

The flat crack of an AK-47 on full auto slammed through the silence. “Get down,” Murdock barked into the network. The fourteen SEALs went prone in the small ditch as a dozen weapons opened up across the highway, directly in front of them. They had just enough cover in the ditch to keep from being slaughtered.

“Grenades,” DeWitt shrilled into the Motorola. The SEALs had started out with six hand bombs each. They had used some. Fourteen grenades sailed across the blacktop and vanished on the other side. They went off in a staccato of death against the gunmen defending the road. One grenade had been a WP, and its bright burning streamers of white phosphorus lit up the night sky for a dozen seconds.

The SEALs saw a few heads showing over the rim of the roadway. A barrage of fire barely skimming the road surface made direct hits on four of the curious heads. One Colombian soldier began screaming and couldn’t stop.

The rifle fire from across the road ceased.

“Pull back,” Murdock said into his lip mike. “Back to some cover. Those trees will be best. Go, now.”

They sprinted for the trees and made fifty yards before the defenders could send more shots after them. Murdock took a squad check. Lam called in from behind them.

“Why didn’t you guys wait for me?” he asked.

Murdock heard DeWitt get a net check. Five men came on the set. DeWitt waited a minute. “Quinley, are you with us?” There was no reply. “Quinley, can you hear me?”

As DeWitt called, the Colombians launched another round of rifle fire from their secure position in the drop-off across the highway.

The SEALs took cover behind trees and a small hump of land.

“Ed, we can’t go look for Quinley now. We’ve got to reduce those forces over there.”

“Yeah, how?” DeWitt asked.

“How close can these twenties explode in an airburst?” Jaybird asked.

Murdock frowned. Everyone had talked about long range on them. “Let’s find out. We’re back about fifty yards. I’ll laser a round at the far edge of the pavement and see what happens.” Murdock leaned around the tree, sighted in on the shadowy edge of the pavement, found the focus spot, and pulled the trigger. He still wasn’t used to the heavy thump of the recoil from the 20mm round. The shell exploded in an airburst almost at once at the far edge of the pavement.

“Yes,” shouted Jaybird.

“Two twenties for every Pup shooter,” Murdock said. “Laser the far edge of the pavement. Should work.”

They fired and the ten airbursts rained death down on the Colombians hiding behind the drop-off.

The return fire from the highway cut off. In the sudden silence they could hear some screams, an order barked out, and then no voices at all.

“Mahanani and I are going to find Quinley,” DeWitt said.

“Go,” Murdock said. He considered storming the roadway now. The chance that the Colombians had pulled out was good but not sure. How many men would he lose if there was even a squad left there with the AK-47s? Too many. He’d wait on Quinley. The man might be seriously wounded.

No firing came for three minutes.

“Murdock. Just found Quinley. He’s gone. Took a round through the side of his head. KIA. Should I bring him back there, or are we going over the side here?”

“Have Mahanani check over the far side for any hostiles. Sorry about Quinley. We take him with us.”

“Yeah. Take him. Mahanani is checking. Oh, he just went over the side below the highway. Must be clear. He’s back up.”

Mahanani bent low and ran back to where DeWitt lay.

“Yeah, slaughtered about fifteen of them. Spread all over. Equipment, ammo, even food. Bugged out anybody who was alive. We should be able to get down there and then make a run for the surf. Figure it’s about fifty, maybe seventy-five yards off. Almost no waves.”

“Murdock, you hear Mahanani’s report?”

“Yeah. Both of you go over the side and check each way for thirty yards. Want to be damn sure.”

“On our way.”

The two SEALs dropped over the lip into the sand and sprinted. DeWitt went right, Mahanani left. Moments later, they hit the net.

“Clear right,” DeWitt said.

“Clear left,” Mahanani said.

“Moving in. We’ll bring Quinley with us. Set up some protection both ways.”

“Skipper, there’s some kind of a pier sticking out into the sea south maybe a hundred yards from where I am. A few boats along it. Look like fishing boats.”

“Noted. Thanks.”

Five minutes later, the SEALs dropped over the side of the highway into the sand. They moved twenty yards left to get away from the dead bodies and began to stow their radios in the waterproof compartments on their combat vests.

“Somebody coming from the right,” Lam said. “Vehicle with no lights.”

“Down, everyone,” Murdock called.

The rig came closer, then a machine gun chattered from a mount on the vehicle. Lam put a 20mm round into the gun flashes. When the round hit, it detonated, silencing the machine gun and probably killing the driver. The jeep’s engine sputtered and stopped.

“No more firing,” Murdock called. “We’ll see who else comes. Get your gear ready for wet. Set up in an arc around this spot. Lam, watch over the pavement to see if they bring anybody up that way.”

All was quiet for a minute. Then they heard equipment rattling, jingling. The Colombians were coming. There were no gun flashes to give them away, but every SEAL on the beach knew they were coming. No time to get into the water. Someone would carry Quinley, and that would slow them all down.

Murdock watched to the right. They must have most of their men there. He checked his situation. They were hard against the six-foot drop-off from the highway for rear protection. Open on the other three sides. Water in front. Beach both ways. No way to see any terrain features.

They couldn’t use the airbursts without some target to laser. They had no targets at all until the enemy began firing. Claymore? No time to rig one thirty yards in front of them.

“Anybody have any forties left?” Murdock asked the man next to him and the question flashed around the men. The answer came back quietly. There was one left.

“Fire it a hundred yards down to the right, and we’ll see what happens.”

Seconds later, the round was on its way. It arched up high and came down with a deadly explosion. In the flash of light, Murdock could see about twenty men advancing on them in a assault line.

“Everyone move to the right. Let’s sweep the beach with hot lead. Fire when you’re ready.”

Gunfire erupted. Ronson’s throaty machine gun chattered out five- and seven-round bursts. The sniper rifles whammed away and the MP-5s on three-round bursts cut in with more fire. They took some return rounds and that gave them better targets.

Lam had dropped down and used his Pup on two-round fire with the 5.56 ammo. Somebody sent a lasered round into the gun flashes and won an airburst. Then two more twenty rounds hit, and the gunfire from the right slacked off.

As it did, Lam listened. “Two more vehicles coming,” he shouted into Murdock’s ear. “My guess, two tanks.”

“Bradford, on me,” Murdock called. The big quartermaster dropped into the dry sand beside Murdock.

“Give me your rifle. You’re on Quinley. We’re heading for that pier to the left. Go now. The rest of us are coming.”

Murdock sent them three at a time, the rest keeping up the fire. When they could spot the tanks in the soft moonlight, they dropped in 20mm impact rounds on them. The tanks responded with machine gun fire.

By then the last of the platoon had bugged out for the pier.

It was a fishing dock, which projected from a small point of land. In the dark Murdock saw six fishing boats. Two of them on the far side of the pier were large enough to hold the SEALs.

“Ostercamp. See if you can hot-wire the engine on that second boat. The quicker we know, the better. That tank can fire out to sea just as well as on land.”

Murdock placed the SEALs in a defensive position around the end of the pier and on two boats on the near side. He doubted if the infantry would make another try, but the tanks would look for them. If they didn’t fire, the tank commander wouldn’t know where to look.

Murdock found Quinley and shook his head. He had been a good man. Always ready to do his part. The round had bored all the way through Quinley’s skull. Not pretty. They wouldn’t leave him. Murdock could count on one hand the men he had left on foreign soil. Two, maybe three. He checked over the fishing boat they were hijacking. It was no bargain, smelled like fish, but it looked fairly clean. He hoped the motor was working and that they had enough fuel for a mile or so ride to sea.

The tanks lumbered closer. They sent streams of machine gun fire around at random now, some into the water, others down the highway. The gunners had no idea where their enemy was.

“I can do it,” Ostercamp called. “Give me about two minutes’ notice, and we can get out and away before that tank knows we’re moving.”

Quietly, Murdock moved his men on board the boat. Ronson carried Quinley on and laid him on the short deck. The boat was mostly masts to let down with fishing lines, and a big empty center to hold the fish. The men sprawled wherever they could find room.

Murdock, Ching, and Bradford with his machine gun took the guard posts.

The engine kicked over and roared into full-blown life. Murdock had two men ready to cast off the lines, and they were moving.

Ostercamp took the wheel and steered the boat away from the tanks.

“This ain’t no hot rod, but we should be able to do about ten knots,” Ostercamp called over the roar of the engine.

“Holt, let’s do some business,” Murdock called. They went to the back of the boat where the engine noise was weakest and made the call to the carrier. They connected on the second try.

“Home Base, we’re in a fishing boat in the sea and heading due west. Had a few problems, including a couple of tanks, so we couldn’t call earlier. We may be fading in and out due to our motion.”

“Read you fine, Rover. We’ll have the bird in the air in two minutes. Stay on that due west course. Our ETA a mile offshore there should be in about twenty minutes. Mark. Use a red flare when you spot our bird and go to TAC one for communication. Any wounded?”

“No wounded. We have one KIA.”

“Sorry, Rover. We’ll see you shortly.”

Jaybird came out of the forward hold with a boy about twelve in tow. “Look what I found, Skip.”

Ching looked over and said something in Spanish to the boy who grinned. He chattered back.

“Says he’s the grandson of the boat owner and he goes out fishing with them. They were getting ready to go at five A.M.”

Murdock chuckled. “Tell him he can drive the boat back to the dock when we leave it and have a wild story to tell his grandfather.”

Ching translated.

Two minutes later, Lam called out.

“Fast boat coming up on our bow. Looks like a coastal patrol boat of some ilk.”

“Can we hide?” Murdock asked.

“Don’t think so, Cap,” Lam said. “Most of these patrol boats, even the small ones, have good radar. This one must be making about twenty knots.”

“Most of these patrol craft carry a twenty-five-to-forty millimeter cannon,” Jaybird said. “Also a couple of machine guns.”

“Range?” Murdock asked.

“Barely see her, maybe three thousand yards.”

“When she gets to a mile, we test our Bull Pups on max range. My guess, we might be able to discourage her from getting too close.”

“Then she can lay off and blow us out of the water with those forties,” DeWitt said.

“If she has any,” Murdock said. “How is that range?”

“Twenty-five hundred if the moon is right,” DeWitt said.

“Get the Bull Pups up here. All five of them. We laser that patrol boat, and when we can see it, we try a round. How many rounds we have left?”

They sang out with numbers, all with more than fifteen rounds.

“Good, we might need them.”

“Two thousand yards and closing,” DeWitt said, looking through his binoculars.

“Let’s try for a laser response,” Murdock said, aiming his Bull Pub at the oncoming ship.

“She’s at least a hundred feet long,” DeWitt said. “Lots to shoot for.

“Range is at a mile,” Jaybird said. He fired. They all waited and watched. Moments later, the round exploded on target over the top of the speeding craft.

“Fire for effect,” Murdock said.

The first exploding 20mm round didn’t get a reaction from the patrol boat, but when it took four more rounds raining deadly shrapnel down on the boat, it cut power.

“The captain is thinking it over,” Murdock said. “Two rounds each, and let’s see what happens.”

“Eight minutes ETA on the chopper,” Ostercamp said.

Murdock fired his two rounds and watched through his binoculars as they exploded in airbursts. Eight more rounds went off on or near the ship moments later. He could see that all of the forward windows had been blown out. The radar antenna must have taken a lot of shrapnel hits as well. There was no one on the decks.

The forty-millimeter cannon on the patrol boat fired. The first round hit short, the second walked up toward the boat. Ostercamp cranked the wheel and had the boat going directly away from the path of the oncoming patrol craft.

The third and fourth rounds hit well aft.

“Two more rounds each,” Murdock said to the Bull Pup shooters, and they blasted away. This time Murdock saw that three crewmen were caught on deck. Two of them went down, and the third smashed into the rail and went over the side. The patrol boat kept coming toward them.

“Bradford, get out that fifty and some AP rounds. Hit the bridge on that craft if you can. We need some help here.”

Bradford grinned and primed the big bolt-action, fifty-caliber weapon and pushed in a five-round magazine of armor-piercing rounds. He fired, swore, and fired again. The second round jolted through the plating on the outside of the bridge and exploded inside.

The patrol boat slowed, then swung sharply to the left and went dead in the water.

“Didn’t think you needed me, right?” Bradford said.

“Three more, for good measure,” Murdock said.

Two of the three rounds hit the bridge and gun mount and exploded inside.

“Two minutes to contact,” Ostercamp said.

“Keep motoring west,” Murdock said. “That wounded duck back there might still be able to fire his forty. We don’t need any more casualties.”

It was nearly five minutes before they heard a chopper. It came in high, then low when Murdock threw out a floating red flare. It swung around into the wind and settled toward the now dead-in-the-water fishing boat.

A speaker from the chopper cut through the sound of the rotors.

“Welcome, SEALs. We’ll send down a litter for your KIA. He comes in first. Then, if we have time, we drop you a ladder. Anyone who can’t climb the ladder?”

Murdock gave a thumbs-up gesture, and the aluminum litter dropped down on a line. They let the litter touch the deck and short out the high charge of static electricity it built up from the rotor wash, then they grabbed it and lifted Quinley in and tied him securely.

A moment later, the litter lifted skyward.

Ching talked to the Colombian boy.

“You tell your grandfather we needed to borrow his boat. We didn’t hurt it any, and here is a hundred U.S. dollars to pay for the fuel. You understand?”

“Many, many dollars. Understand.”

“You can run the boat?”

“Sí, it is easy. Drive for Grandfather many times.”

Murdock watched the ladder come down. Two men held it while the others went up. Jaybird motioned Murdock up, pointing to his wrist. Jaybird was the last man up the ladder, now swaying on the bottom. It’s twice as hard to climb with no one holding the bottom. He made it, and the SEALs inside cheered as the crew chief closed the hatch and the Sea Knight headed back for the carrier Jefferson.