Frontal Assault

27

First Lieutenant Pete Van Dyke shook his head in amazement. He’d never seen so much activity in this corner of Saudi in his three days here. There was a line of six big CH- 47 Chinook double-rotor vertical assault choppers just beyond the six resident Cobras. They had landed an hour ago, and 200 Marines billowed out of the hatches of four of the birds and stretched their cramped muscles.

Five minutes later, the Marines were doing a fast double-time hike with weapons into the desert. They came back in fifteen minutes and ate box lunches they evidently had brought with them.

A different breed of fighting man came from the fifth Chinook. They wore cammies and a wild variety of headgear from stocking caps to bandannas or floppy hats. They all had a lean, hungry look and the dark eyes of men Van Dyke didn’t want to fool with. They stayed together, ate at the chow hall, and climbed back in their helo. Somebody said they were Navy SEALs. He watched them. He’d heard of some of the amazing things they did. He wondered why they were here.

He would find out. He and the other three Cobras had been ordered to fly cover and security for two Chinooks. They would fly into the desert and sit down. One Cobra would be in the air at all times for cover. When the SEALs were ready to return, they would cover them and give them ground support if they needed it in the return to the choppers. They were not told where they were flying or what the mission was. Tons of fuel, ammunition, and supplies had come in during the night by helicopter.

The Marines in their four helicopters had been gone two hours with two of the local Cobras for escort when the last two Chinooks lifted off. They were followed closely by four Cobras. Lieutenant Van Dyke led the gunships, putting one of his birds on each side of the big choppers and two above them.

He had no orders where to go or how long the flight would last. They slanted almost due east with a slight twist to the north. He had never flown into this space before. The big Chinook drivers seemed to know where they were going. He kept a tight rein on his Cobras, and they raced into the desert.

The Chinooks could do 150 mph with their load. The Cobras could beat that speed by 25 mph, which gave them a little maneuvering room.

Inside one of the Chinooks, Murdock talked to his men.

“We are heading into Iraq now. We have about a hundred miles to go to the nerve gas center. You saw the Marines take off. By now, they should have landed and made so much noise that most of the military unit at the nerve gas site is on its way to confront the Marines. All are probably walking, so it should take some time. The Marines were supposed to land fifteen miles from the complex. That gives us time to get there, get inside, and do what we have to do. We expect some of the military to remain behind. We’ll take them out and herd the civilians into one area. Then we make a count. Hell, we don’t even know what we’re counting.”

“Sound like they just want us to clear the facility of all people, so nobody can say we killed a bunch of military or civilians when we bomb shit out of it.” That was Jaybird.

“Could be. At least we’ll have secure transport on the ground and enough tools to do the job. We herd the civilians out as soon as we can and take down any military. We’ll land two hundred yards from the main gate and get in that way, then we spread out in twos and take it down.”

“How much time do we have?” Senior Chief Dobler asked.

“Until dusk,” Murdock said. Then we have to be back in this bird. The civilians will go in the other one and any surplus in here. They can put fifty men in each Chinook.”

Holt came up with the SATCOM. “I made it through to the Marines, Skip. Some captain wants to talk.”

Murdock took the handset.

“SEALs here.”

“Yes, SEALs. We’ve landed and made our presence known. Our scouts tell me there are about two hundred men coming toward us on transport and walking. Are you down yet?”

“Close, Captain. We’ll keep you apprised. Let you know as soon as you can disengage. Then put your gunships on the Iraqis and get out of there.”

“That’s a roger, SEALs. Keep in touch.”

Murdock looked out the porthole and saw the ground coming up fast. He looked ahead as much as possible and saw a dozen buildings, all painted desert brown. Nice try.

The pilot asked Murdock where he wanted to be set down, and he told him as near the front gate as possible. It was a gate, with high poles and everything. A dirt road about fifty yards long led to the first building. He saw an Iraqi flag flying on a pole in front of the first building.

A minute later, the big bird hovered a moment, then settled to the ground and a crewman pushed open the side doors. The SEALs rushed out the door and ran toward the gate, through it, and straight at the first building.

There was no gunfire.

They hit the first building. Murdock rammed open the door and slanted inside. It was an administration office. Two men looked up in an area where two dozen could work. They were surprised and then worried. One held up his hands. Then the other one did. Ken Ching ran to them, led them outside the front door, and fastened plastic riot cuffs on their hands and feet.

The SEALs cleared the rest of the room, then started out the back door, when a shot jolted into the desert quietness. A slug buried itself in the doorjamb. Murdock jumped back. He pushed the panel open and stood to one side. Three rounds came through the opening. Murdock dropped flat to the floor and looked out at ground level. He saw the shooter, a soldier standing fifty feet away, in the open.

Murdock put a three-round burst into him and the man pawed at the air for a minute with one hand, then slumped sideways and fell to the ground, ramming his face into the sand. He didn’t move.

Lam checked the other direction from just over Murdock.

“Looks clear,” Lam said. He and Murdock darted through the door to a small shed behind the building. They peered around it and saw four soldiers down fifty yards.

“Do them,” Murdock said.

He and Lam shot at almost the same time. The four men hesitated. Two died before they could move; the third went down and crawled behind a vehicle. The fourth one sprinted into a building across a narrow street.

“Skip, we splitting up?” Senior Chief Dobler called.

“No. Too many of them so far. Let’s fan out and move down the street, clearing the buildings as we go. Civilians we take back to the front. Military we drive ahead of us.”

It worked on the first building. It was a supply structure. There were three civilians there, and they surrendered with no trouble. One even spoke English.

“Yes, welcome. Want to get away from this evil place. I will take my friends to the front building and wait. You must take us with you. There is much death in this place.”

Murdock waved them away.

The next building held rows of missiles and boxes of artillery shells. They all had painted red tips.

“Careful shooting in here,” Murdock said. “Looks like the finished product.”

They used one squad in this building and worked slowly between the missiles and the wooden boxes of shells. Ahead, somebody fired a handgun, but the round missed. Murdock sent Jaybird and three men around a stack of boxes and he went the other way. Nothing. Then two men with automatic rifles opened fire from a catwalk ten feet off the floor. Murdock felt a sting on his shoulder, dove behind some artillery round wooden boxes, and tried for some return fire.

Jaybird cut down both men from the other side. They fell off the small balcony and lay still.

“We going to count?” Jaybird called.

“Against what?” Murdock asked. “They didn’t give us a total we should get to. They don’t know how many units are here of shells or missiles. We might count the Scuds if we see them.”

They found no one in the next building. Murdock sent Senior Chief Dobler with Bravo Squad to clear the frame building across the narrow street. He and Alpha took the one just ahead.

As soon as they stepped into the structure, Murdock knew it was different. There was a strange feel. He saw no people, only large vats and pipes and series of low worktables with tubing to each one. The whole place seemed to be a death trap.

They started through the building when a single Arab with a full beard stepped out from behind some large, wooden boxes and yelled at them in Arabic. The man held a two-foot-long canister about six inches in diameter.

He shrieked again in Arabic. They were close enough that they could see the wild look in his eyes. His movements were quick and jerky. He motioned to them with one hand and to the canister with the other.

“Franklin, get over here to the other building,” Murdock talked in his lip mike. “We need your Arabic. On the double.”

Murdock watched the Iraqi. He was screaming, crying, pointing at them, then at the container.

“Could be some of the nerve gas in there,” Holt said where he stood near Murdock.

“Yeah, but what does he want? Why is he crying and screaming?”

“I’d say he’s scared shitless about now. He wearing a uniform?”

Murdock looked closer. The man had on a military blouse with bars of some sort on the shoulders. His pants were civilian. He had no hat or weapon. Just the deadly looking canister.

Murdock laid his MP-5 submachine gun on the floor and looked at the man.

“See, I put down my weapon. We don’t want to hurt you. What’s in the container?”

The man frowned, wiped his eyes, then stared hard at Murdock. He jabbered again in Arabic. Calmer this time. He seemed to be getting control of himself more now. Murdock knew he had to keep talking to the man.

“We’re not sure what you want. We’re here to help you. To get you out of this desert of death.”

The Arab slumped to the floor, but held the canister tightly. He wiped his eyes again, motioned Murdock and the others back. He put the cylinder on the floor in front of him and took out a small-caliber handgun and aimed at the silver container.

“No,” Murdock bellowed. The Arab looked up. He shrugged.

Murdock heard movement behind him, and Franklin stepped in beside him.

“Talk to him, Franklin. That could be nerve gas in there.”

Franklin spoke softly in Arabic. The bearded man looked up, surprised, then curious. Murdock had no idea what Franklin said. He and the Arab spoke back and forth for several minutes. Then the Arab man shook his head. He picked up the container, stood, and placed the muzzle of the pistol against it.

“Skip, the man says he’s been cheated, deceived, lied to, and he’s terrified. He just wants to end it all right here and right now. I don’t know how to talk him out of it.”

Murdock watched the man. He was serious.

“Skip, he says he’ll shoot the canister open and we’ll all die in seconds. If we shoot him, he’ll drop the container and it will split open and we’ll still all die.”

Murdock watched in deadly fascination as he saw the Iraqi’s finger tighten on the trigger.