Payback

22

Jaybird snorted. “Chickenshit Forestry pilot. Hell, how far are we from where we landed?”

“About a mile and three ridges,” Lam said.

“Probably the closest good LZ we’ll find,” Murdock said. “Let’s haul ass back there and I’ll tell Four where we are.”

It took them more than a half an hour to climb the ridges, slide down the slopes, and find the small meadow where they had landed before.

Murdock told Forestry Four where they were, and within ten minutes the bird circled and came in for an easy landing. The pilot talked to Murdock.

“Hey, sorry about the change in plans. I’ve never done a rope pickup in my life. We don’t even have the rope ladders on here like you SEALs use. I’ve seen it done, but we just don’t do it. Then too, the wind gusts and currents around a ridgeline are murder to try to hover over. Best this way. Everybody gets to go right on drawing his regular paycheck.”

“No sweat. You know where we’re going?”

“Right. About six or seven miles to a rugged little dirt trail of a road. Not used much, so any rig on it will be suspect.”

“Let’s go find them,” Murdock said.

The bird took off and lifted over the green Oregon forest, and then angled more east until the pilot found the landmark he wanted. Murdock was in the cabin.

“There’s the road,” said the pilot. “Open only in the summer.”

“No cars.”

“Never are many. Let’s see if we can find our North Korean brethren.” They raced along over the road at two hundred feet. It wound around a mountain, lifted up a long narrow valley, and then over a low pass and down the other side. They both saw the dust trail at the same time.

“Got something,” the pilot said. He slanted down to a hundred feet and came up on the slow-moving car quickly, flashed over him, and did a climbing turn and hovered, as Murdock and the pilot watched the car. It slowed, stopped, and a man jumped out with a long gun. The pilot pivoted and raced away, moving from side to side, and then did a sweeping turn.

No shots hit the chopper, and the pilot looked relieved.

“Could be our boys,” Murdock said. “Curve in the road ahead and a small hill. Put us down behind it where they can’t see us, and we’ll stage a surprise party.”

The pilot nodded, and four minutes later they were on the ground and the pilot had lifted off and raced away from the spot. The road curved around the small hill and came straight toward them. Lots of cover and concealment. The SEALs split, two on each side of the road.

“We’ll let him show his colors first,” Murdock said. “Lam, when the rig is fifty feet from you, accidentally show yourself from behind that fir. Move out and then dart back and see if you can draw a shot.”

“Damn target practice again, and I’m the target,” Lam said.

“You love it, quit bitching,” Jaybird said.

The men in the car could see none of the SEALs as it rounded the curve and came straight ahead. Murdock figured it was doing about thirty miles an hour on the rough gravel road. The rig was an older Toyota. Murdock could see two heads in the car, but couldn’t make out faces.

At the right time, Lam stumbled out from his tree, then looked at the car and jolted back. A shot sounded from the car, and Murdock figured it was from a pistol. The round came nowhere near Lam. Murdock put a 5.56 round through the right front tire, blowing it out and bringing the car to a stop. Nobody in the car moved, and Murdock guessed the men were talking over their options. The heads had vanished below the dashboard.

To speed their decision, Murdock blew out the other front tire. A moment later the doors opened and a man came out on each side of the car. Both had their hands up, but each man still held a rifle. Jaybird zeroed in and fired, and hit the man on his side of the car in the thigh, jolting him backward against the Toyota, where he dropped to the ground, his rifle lost in his fall.

The other man darted for the woods, five yards away. Hot lead splashed all around him, and one round clipped his flailing right arm as he pounded for the brush. A moment later he had vanished.

“Your side, Lam, go get him,” Murdock ordered on the Motorola. Lam was twenty yards from the man’s entry point. He went into the brush where he was, and ten feet inside the timber he paused and listened. He heard the Korean crashing brush to the left. He ran that way, then paused and listened again. The sounds were softer then. Lam spurted ahead, determined not to lose the man. This time he ran flat out through the woods, dodging trees and brush, aiming at the last sound position. Only when he had covered fifty yards did he stop.

Yes, more crashing brush sounds and much closer now. Lam ran ahead again, quickly, not trying to be quiet. He had to run down the man or the Korean would vanish in the heavy timber. Lam adjusted his route a little. The Korean was charging along the side of the valley about fifty yards from the road. Where was he going? The Korean had a rifle. Lam didn’t forget that. He stopped and listened again. Still going. Running. How far could this guy run?

The next time Lam stopped to listen, he noticed they were closer to the road, barely in the fringes of the timber. Now as he listened, he could hear no brush crashing. The Korean had stopped. Lam used the Motorola. “Skipper, I’m still with the K. He’s near the road and stopped. I don’t know what he has in mind, but I can wait him out. My guess he’s about thirty, forty yards ahead of me and not moving. I’ll keep you posted. Out.”

Lam dropped to one knee and stared ahead. He could see the road, and up here it didn’t look like a car had been over it in months. There were grass and weeds growing in the center of the lane between where the car wheels rolled. This was wait time. He settled down against a tree and watched ahead where he figured the Korean had to be. He had a hunch about this one. He was smarter than the other one, and wouldn’t be easy to sneak up on. So Lam would wait.

Fifteen minutes later he stretched and moved enough to relieve the tired muscles. At first he didn’t notice it. Then the hum of a motor came through plainly. A plane or a car? He edged toward the road and saw the dust plume a mile away. The rig was coming this way. Another car on this backwoods roadway? It could even be a car hijacked by another team of Korean firebugs.

Lam found a good OP and edged behind a tree so he could see the road and the trees on both sides. There was no movement by the Korean ahead. How far ahead? Lam brought up the Bull Pup and switched it to 5.56 and waited.

The car came closer. Would the Korean shoot into it to stop it and then try to hijack it? To do that he’d have to leave the woods and expose himself to Lam’s rifle. Lam waited. The car seemed to be coming slowly, kicking up dust on the rough gravel road, but not making much speed.

Lam heard movement ahead, small sounds as if the Korean was trying to be silent. He scanned the brush and trees in front of him, but could not see anyone. The sounds stopped.

The car was much closer now, only a hundred yards down the road. It kept coming at the same slow speed.

The crack of a heavy rifle startled Lam, and he jerked his head around to look at the car. A front tire blew out and the car stopped quickly, forty yards down the road from Lam’s position.

“You will leave the car at once,” a voice bellowed from the brush. Two men in the car got out, frowning.

“Who the hell are you?” the man called.

Another rifle shot, and the questioner slammed backward, hit the side of the car, and fell to the ground. He didn’t move.

“Leave the car and run back the way you came,” the same voice called with a faint tinge of an accent. The second man looked at his downed companion, then took off running as fast as he could down the gravel road away from death.

Lam waited. Nothing happened for two or three minutes that seemed like a half hour. Then a form lifted from the brush twenty yards ahead and rushed toward the car. He wore cammies and a floppy hat, and carried a rifle. Lam tracked him, then sent a three-round burst of hot lead at him. He saw two of the slugs hit the man, one in the thigh and one in the stomach. The man lurched forward, turned, and tried to return fire, but stumbled and sprawled on the ground, his long rifle trapped under his body. Lam fired twice more on each side of the man, then ran into the road.

“Keep your hands in the open or you’re one fucking dead Korean,” Lam brayed. The man tried to sit up, pushed with one hand on the roadway, then whipped around his other hand with a pistol in it.

Lam shot him five times, three in the chest and two rounds jolting through his face and into his brain. Lam walked up slowly and looked at the two men. He kicked the pistol out of the Korean’s reach, then checked the civilian. He was dead. Lam looked in the car. Two suitcases in the backseat and a bunch of camping gear and a plastic cooler. The keys were in the ignition, which had been turned off. Lam sat in the car and flipped down his Motorola mike.

“Erase that second firebug. He killed a kid trying to take over his car. Another good guy ran down the road.”

“See if the Korean has any papers, orders, addresses, money, anything,” Murdock said.

“Roger.”

Lam went through the firebug’s pockets, and found only waterproof matches, three new one-hundred-dollar bills, and two time-delay detonators. He told Murdock.

“Figures. Take a hike up the road and I’ll call in the chopper. Then we’ll see if we can find that other civilian. Did the shots disable the car?”

“Just blew out one tire. If the kid has a spare he’s in business.”

“Take your time getting here. No rush. The chopper probably won’t be here for a half hour, Forestry Four said.”

“That’s a roger, see you in about twenty.”

Fifteen miles to the west of where Murdock waited for the chopper, Lieutenant Ed DeWitt looked down on the smoke that billowed below. It was still small, and a dozen smoke jumpers had dropped from the sky to try to put it out before it ravaged this foothill to the soaring peak of Mt. Hood.

“How do we know which way the firebugs went when they left the fire?” DeWitt asked. The pilot heard the shouted words and shook his head.

“This pair has been moving west, not east like the others. Maybe they just got confused. The fire was reported an hour ago. We figure the Koreans have traveled about two miles in the heavy timber. It’s slow going down there. If they keep on their track, they’ll run right into Mt. Hood. My guess is that they will swing to the north to go around the steeper slopes. Stay in the foothills.”

Any roads in here?”

“Damn few. Over a few miles is Oregon Highway 35, which goes from Government Camp to Hood River on the Columbia. Not much else. We’re eight, ten miles from that highway.”

“So where are you dropping us off.”

“Wherever you say.”

“So we have a couple hundred thousand acres and the bad guys could be anywhere. Not much of a chance. Can you talk to Forestry Radio?”

“Yes.” He handed DeWitt the headset and a mike. “Just push the button and call for Forestry Four.”

A moment later DeWitt had the head man on the radio.

“We don’t have a clue where to set down. Do you know for sure that this team went west and not east?”

“We think so. A light plane reported the fire, and the pilot said he saw two men in cammies running to the west through an old burn.”

“Okay, Four. We’ll set down near the burn and try to find some tracks. Out.”

The pilot did a turn and went back the way they had come. They hit the smoke, and then DeWitt saw the burned-over area. It wasn’t all that big. To one side of it was a bulldozed area that had probably been used as a landing zone and headquarters for firefighters.

“You have a radio?” the pilot asked DeWitt.

“A SATCOM. We can get Forestry Four on TAC Four.”

The bird touched down, and DeWitt and his team jumped to the ground and ran out of the rotor wash. When the chopper had taken off, DeWitt told the men all he knew about their target.

“We try to pick up some tracks in the burn and follow them.”

“Let’s go to the far side of the burn and check along the edge of it for tracks,” Franklin said. DeWitt nodded and they moved that direction. They walked through the edge of the burn toward the west, and DeWitt was surprised at the new growth that had already begun to show where less than a year ago a furious forest fire had burned everything in its path. At the far side of the burn they worked the edges critically. Twice they found deer tracks, and places where birds had nested. Then Mahanani yelped.

“Hey, look at these. Fresh damn boot tracks, a pair of them with the toes pointing east. Looks like they’re in a rush. See how the heels are pressed in hard where they landed, and then the toes dig in and kick out some dirt and ash to the rear when they push off hard with their toes.”

“Franklin, you’re my best tracker. Lead out, let’s see if we can follow these puppies.”

Franklin moved to the edge of the burn and a few steps into the timber, and stopped. He kept looking for boot impressions, but there were none. Then he remembered what Lam had shown him one day about tracking. He spotted a clump of weeds that had only partly lifted up from where a boot had mashed them down. Now he looked ahead and could see a pattern to the plants where they had been disturbed.

Under a huge oak tree he spotted actual boot impressions in the heavy leaf mold. Farther on he caught where a branch had been broken off, and where leaves had been stripped off a limb. Franklin held up his hand, and the four men stopped and listened.

Nothing.

They moved on. Twice Franklin lost the track. He circled out twenty yards from his last sign and found new tracks heading in the same direction. They moved along the side of a small valley, just inside the tree line. Then Franklin stopped and wrinkled his nose.

“Wood smoke,” he said. “Either there’s a cabin up here with a fireplace, or our boys have started another fire.” He took off running through the fringe of trees and into the valley, which showed only a little brush. Ahead not a quarter of a mile they all saw a small plume of smoke.

They ran faster then, and at last had to stop. Franklin struggled forward at a walk, his Bull Pup down and ready. At the end of the little valley he went up a sharp slope, and when he looked over the top he saw the smoke.

Two men stood near the campfire-sized blaze, and they were pushing it into the brush and trees. Both wore cammies and had long guns. Without hesitation Franklin brought up the Bull Pup, lasered directly on the two men, and fired. The round exploded on a tree just in front of the two men, and one went down screaming. The other one darted behind a tree evidently unhurt.

DeWitt caught up with Franklin, saw the fire and the man down, and the two plunged down the slope toward the fire fifty yards ahead. They raced to the blaze, kicked what they could away from the brush, and stomped out the rest. Both were blackened with soot and smoke when Mahanani and Fernandez hurried up and finished off the fire-fighting duties.

“He went that way,” Franklin said, motioning ahead and up the side of a hill. Before the words were out of his mouth, a rifle bullet slapped into a tree a foot from his head and the SEALs dove behind protection.

“I’m on him,” Mahanani said, and darted to the side into some brush and then up the slope. He had no idea how to track a man. He’d been watching Lam and now Franklin, but still he wasn’t sure. Scuff marks he could find, and broken branches. He’d watch for movement of brush. He gained the top of the hill without getting shot, and peered over the crest.

Nothing but green Oregon timber below and the start of a small stream. He took it by areas, watching one section at a time. Yes, there. Just to the right of the creek, brush moved where someone or some animal had gone through. He put a 20mm round into the brush and as soon as the round fired, he charged down the slope toward the target. He didn’t go gracefully or without noise. He crashed brush and dodged trees and came to the spot he had fired at quickly. He found a riddled clump of brush, a tree with some bark blown off, and on the ground some spots of blood.

Now he studied the ground carefully. It was full of grass and weeds and young fir trees a foot high. Twice he found drops of blood and the trail led downstream. Again he crashed forward, unmindful of the danger or the wisdom of such a move. He just wanted to catch up with the little guy and nail his hide to the wall.

The creek took a jog to the right, and around that bend he came to a more open area where the stream picked up water and had carved out a small valley. Near the end of it he saw the man limping along. Smoothly, Mahanani lifted the Pup and lasered a round on the man. The enemy was about seventy-five yards downstream, and the round went off almost at the same time as the report of the weapon.

The North Korean firebug had just taken a step forward. He never completed it. His foot hit the dirt as more than a dozen shards of shrapnel from the 20mm round blasted into his head and shoulders after detonating twenty feet above him. He crumpled to the ground.

Mahanani dropped to his knees and wiped sweat from his forehead. He flipped down the Motorola mike from where it had rotated against his floppy hat.

“Now hear this,” Mahanani said. “The second little bastard is now communing with his ancestors. Scratch the other half of this firebug team.”

“Copy that,” DeWitt said. “Make your way back to where we dropped the first one. We’re still making sure that this fire is completely out. We’ll wind up the SATCOM and see if we can get a lift out of this forest wonderland.”

“Where are they gonna land?” Mahanani asked.

“Probably back at the same spot where they dropped us off. We’ll move that way after you get here.”

“I’m coming. Not even bothering with getting this guy’s weapon as a souvenir.”

DeWitt had Fernandez set up the SATCOM. It took three tries before he got the small fold-out dish antenna positioned right so it looked through the trees to find the satellite. On the fourth call they made it to Forestry Four.

“Yes, Four. This is DeWitt. You can cross out that two-man team in here by the old burn where you dropped us. They are down and out. They started another fire, but we got there in time to snuff it as well.”

“DeWitt, good work. The State Police nailed one pair of firebugs and a sheriff’s detail grabbed another pair. We think that’s all of them. No more assignments. You can fly back to Portland now.”

“Have the chopper pilot pick us up where he dropped us off by the old burn,” DeWitt said.

“Copy that, DeWitt, by the old burn. Should be there in about thirty.”

Fernandez turned off the set, folded up the dish antenna, stowed it with the SATCOM, and they moved out toward the burn area.

“Maybe two miles,” Mahanani said. “Then I’m due for one of Jaybird’s little naps.”

It was forty-five minutes before the chopper arrived to pick them up, but DeWitt didn’t mind. It gave him time to think about this whole operation. What in hell were the North Koreans trying to do besides cause a little hell? Saving face? How could you save face when your teams were smashed and crushed and captured? He’d never understand the Oriental mind, but he had to keep trying.

Murdock and his men waited at the Portland airport for De Witt to fly in. The same business jet that had brought them to Portland was serviced and ready to go. The SEALs climbed on board and settled into the airliner seats.

“Now this is more in keeping with my station in life,” Jaybird said as he leaned back in the soft seat.

“Your train station just went out of business, chatterbox,” Mahanani said. “Now don’t bother me while I take a Jaybird kind of nap.”

“The big kid learns fast,” Jaybird said, and closed his eyes.

Murdock talked with the pilot. In two and a half hours they would be home. Not a bad afternoon’s work. He wondered if the North Koreans were done. They had inflicted a lot of damage, killed over two hundred people, set fires, blown up an airliner, caused a horrendous blackout in the Western states that must have cost business firms billions of dollars in lost revenue and services. They’d sent missiles into San Francisco and hijacked a luxury liner. Besides that, they’d captured and almost made off with the President of the United States. How could they have done all of this? Who coordinated the whole thing and where did they operate from? Not from the North Korean frigate. It was just a player in the game, not the leader.

They had to have a GHQ somewhere. He’d have to think on that. It would be good to be home. Maybe Ardith would drop in. He dozed off thinking about her. Now there was a woman. Oh, yeah. He hoped she’d show up again in San Diego real soon.