Tropical Terror

31

The party was well under way when Murdock and Ardith arrived at l830. The recreation area of DeWitt’s apartment complex was near the back, with three stationary barbecues and six picnic tables and benches solidly bolted to the concrete slabs.

Ed and Milly met them at the gate and ushered them in. Everyone was in mufti and looking comfortable. Ed and Milly wore their matching Hawaiian flowered aloha shirts.

“About time you got here, Skipper,” Ed said. “Now we can put on the fish before the guys get too bombed to eat.”

The salmon fillets went on the grill and DeWitt, Ching, and Mahanani wielded the spatulas, vying to see who could turn out the best cooked salmon. Maria Fernandez hurried over and grabbed Ardith and Milly, and they walked to a table where Nancy Dobler sat. Soon the four women were in a gab session.

Murdock grabbed a cold beer from a cooler and watched his men. He wasn’t used to drinking left-handed, but he got by. There was no way he could lift the can up to his mouth with his right hand.

Two or three of the men had brought bimbos with them. He had no idea where the SEALs had grabbed up the women on such short notice. A half hour after he arrived, Murdock saw Lampedusa and a slinky little brunette make their way out of the recreation area and head for DeWitt’s apartment. Boys would be boys.

Tony Ostercamp and Bill Bradford got into an argument that Senior Chief Dobler had to settle. They all grinned, tipped their beers, and went to yell at the three cooks.

“Get your plates off the first table,” DeWitt called. “This salmon takes about three minutes on each side, so it’s almost done.”

The men lined up at the barbecues, and then moved back, giving the ladies the first run at the salmon.

Before they could start serving, somebody bellowed from near the gate.

“Hold the chow, you Boy Scouts. Let the real SEAL show up and take charge.” An orderly complete with white cap and uniform powered a wheelchair over the ground toward the grills.

“Jaybird, you roustabout,” Ching yelled. “What the hell you doing out of the pigpen?” Then they all ran to where his wheelchair had hit rough ground. They picked it up and carried it the last fifty feet to the tables.

“Easy, easy, I’m a surgical case here,” Jaybird brayed at them.

“I’ve got some surgery you can do on me,” Franklin yelped.

“How the hell you get out of the hospital?” Murdock asked.

“Got my keeper here, Charlie, and he’s so dry he needs about a dozen beers. Get him some, guys. Charlie has my liberty chit and I’ve got to be back in that bed by midnight. Sort of.”

“Yeah, but who authorized it?” DeWitt asked.

“Authorized it myself. Wrote up the order, made the rank a bit confused, and pushed it through. Nobody gave a damn. Just so I don’t get busted up none.”

“On this salmon you might,” Jefferson barked, and they all laughed.

They moved back to the grills and everyone was served. The meal had side dishes of baked potatoes, three kinds of steaming vegetables, hot rolls, and tea, coffee, or beer.

Another argument broke out, and DeWitt stepped in to calm down Jefferson and Ron Holt.

“Come on, you guys,” DeWitt said. “No fighting at least until you’re half drunk. Then you’ll have an excuse.”

It would not have been a fair fight. They shook hands, then raced for the grills for seconds on salmon.

Murdock and Ardith sat at a table across from Nancy and Senior Chief Dobler. The women talked kids for ten minutes. Then they stood and walked over by the swings, talking all the way. Murdock went to the grill for more salmon.

Three SEALs began singing a loud and bawdy song. Their women for the night giggled, then laughed, trying to join in. Beer flowed and flowed. When the food was gone, DeWitt brought out wrapped ice-cream bars and handed them out.

Murdock stopped DeWitt. “Hey, when did this barbecue get to be a tradition?”

“Few months back after you and Stroh went fishing. Don’t you remember?”

“Sure, but we never caught any salmon.”

“Try harder next time,” DeWitt said, and tossed Murdock two more cold beers.

Murdock noticed more of the single SEALs make trips to the apartment with their girls of the night. There were more songs and bawdy stories. Then Jaybird had the idea.

“Hey, guys. Let’s go down to MacB’s and see what the babes look like.”

“What good could you do them?” Jefferson asked, and they all howled in delight.

“More good than you could ever figure. Who’s with me? Anybody got a van I could roll into?”

Ardith had been enjoying talking with the other SEAL women. Now she came back to where Murdock stood near the grills.

“You can’t let Jaybird go,” she said.

Murdock took her elbow and walked out of the lights into the darkness.

“I can’t stop him. He’s over twenty-one and a SEAL.”

“But isn’t that a rowdy bar with lots of fights?”

“True, favorite hangout of the guys. They can take care of themselves and watch out for Jaybird. Let’s help Ed and Milly clean up this place.”

The SEALs hurried out the gate, and piled into half a dozen cars and roared away. Jaybird’s keeper/orderly didn’t object. He was so drunk he had passed out once already. They would leave him in the car.

It was less than five minutes to the waterfront-type bar where the SEALs liked to hang out and where they had certain privileges.

Twelve half-drunk SEALs and four party-dressed women charged into MacB’s ten minutes later and took over the place. There were fifteen men and two women there at the time. Eight of the white-sided-haircut young men were drinking together.

Tran Khai bumped into one of the white-sides as he eased into a stool at the bar. Train was the first SEAL to get drunk at every outing. The military-haircut man turned and growled. Mahanani loomed over the white-side a second later.

“Hey, my little buddy here is in his cups. He didn’t mean any harm. What say?”

“Who the hell you think you are, sad ass?”

“We’re SEALs and we’re celebrating. Who the hell do you think you are, grab ass?”

“We’re Marines, and we think all SEALs are chicken-fuckers.”

Suddenly the place was quiet. The Marine’s words had rung out sharp and clear in the bar.

Then the Marine threw half a glass of beer in Mahanani’s face. It took only a microsecond for the big Hawaiian/Tahitian to react. His right fist came out and sank four inches into the Marine’s surprised gut. Then his left looped upward, found the Marine’s chin just as he started to bend over to relieve his gut pain. The Halls of Montezuma man arched backward and fell on a table where three civilians sat. The table lost a leg and crashed to the floor with the dazed Marine on top of it.

“What the fuck?” another Marine shrilled.

Four more Marines rushed up, and the civilians from the smashed table jumped away from it, and then headed for Mahanani and Train.

For a moment it looked like seven on two. Then three more SEALs spotted the trouble and waded in. Fists flew, bodies dropped and jumped up. It turned into a free-for-all with all the SEALs except Jaybird in the center of the battle with the eight Marines and five or six civilians who chose the wrong side.

Lampedusa found himself facing a snarling Marine who was almost as drunk as he was. They swung, missed, and swung again, and both hit. Lam came sober in a rush, and jabbed the Marine twice with his left, then swung from the bleachers with his right fist and tagged the corporal on the side of the jaw. The Marine jolted back a step, stood there as his eyes glazed, then dropped to his knees and fell flat on his face on the barroom floor.

Canzoneri dragged a civilian off Ostercamp and jabbed a hard right fist into his face, then threw two left jabs and lifted his right knee hard into the civilian’s crotch. The man’s eyes went wide. He tried to scream, but only a gargled belch came out as he grabbed his crotch with both hands and staggered toward the wall, clearly out of action.

Bill Bradford told himself to stay out of the fight. He was drunk and when he tried to fight when he was drunk, he always took a drubbing. Then it was too late. Two Marines rushed him. He lifted one foot and caught one of them in the belly, driving him into the wall. The other one came through, clubbing him in the shoulder, but then unable to get out of the way of Bradford’s right fist, which slammed into the Marine’s nose, bringing a spout of blood. Somebody grabbed Bradford from behind, and he jolted his head backward, crashing his skull into the head of the man behind him.

The man bellowed in pain and released Bradford, who spun around and jolted a hard left jab into the civilian’s right eye, and then a looping right that hit him on the side of the head and spilled him into a chair next to the wall.

One by one the Marines went down and didn’t get up. Another table and a chair crashed into bits and pieces.

Behind the bar, Mac himself blew on his police whistle until he turned blue, and then gave up. He grabbed the old .45 from the cash drawer, racked in a round, and fired into the wall behind him in a spot where he knew the wall and insulation would corral the bullet. The weapon going off in the bar had no effect on the series of small battles still going on.

He saw the last of the SEALs leave the girls and charge into the battle. Even the guy in the wheelchair tried to swing at a guy. Mac gave up and called the Shore Patrol. Then he called an old friend, Master Chief Gordon MacKenzie.

By the time the Shore Patrol arrived with six armed men and two patrol wagons, some semblance of order had been restored. Mac had bellowed that he’d called the Shore Patrol, and that had cooled off most of the battles. Mahanani had kept punishing the Marine who’d started the whole ruckus, but then Master Chief MacKenzie had come into the bar and scowled at the SEALs.

Five minutes later, a chief petty officer led the Shore Patrol into the bar and looked around. He spotted Master Chief MacKenzie and waved at his men to relax. MacKenzie sat at the bar with a beer. He pointed to a foaming, cold beer in front of an empty stool beside him. The chief walked up and stood looking at MacKenzie.

“Some mess your boys are in here, I’d say, MacKenzie.”

“True, Chief Billbray, but they didn’t start the ruckus. Marines did it. Ask Mac. He saw it all.”

“I’ll do that.” He pushed down the bar and talked to the owner of the business, then came back, sat on the stool, and sipped at the brew.

“That one big Marine with the black eye and not much of a nose left started it,” the Shore Patrol chief said.

They both sipped at the beer. Nobody said a word in the bar. One Marine groaned, and another one kicked him to quiet down.

“Chief to chief on this one, Billbray?”

“The Shore Patrol chief had another swallow of beer, wiped his mouth, and looked at MacKenzie.

“It’s been a while. Your boys have been on their best behavior lately. You get new guidelines, or has the Mormon Church taken over the SEALs’ training and operation?”

“Something like that.” MacKenzie waved at Mac, who came sliding down the bar with a wet cloth in one hand.

“Aye?”

“How much for damages, Mac? And lost business, incidentals, and pain and suffering?”

The saloon owner grinned. “Them two tables wasn’t much count anyway. Cost me maybe forty bucks to replace them. Actually, business is up tonight. Pain and suffering usually goes at about two million, but I’m easy. Another forty should keep me happy.”

MacKenzie took five twenty-dollar bills from his wallet and pushed them across the bar. “That and a tip for good service.” MacKenzie made a curt motion to the SEALs, and they straightened chairs, picked up a broken glass, and began to move toward the door.

“Oh, Mac. You should start to cultivate the Shore Patrol when they’re off duty,” MacKenzie said. “Fine group of lads. Be a favor to me if you could set up a round of beers for these SP lads next time they come in.”

MacB’s brows went up. Then he chuckled. “Sure, and I’d be glad to do just that.”

“Chief Billbray, I’d say that I owe you a favor, chief to chief. Yes, I’m in your debt. These are good lads I’ve got. This platoon just came back from the fighting in Hawaii. Nasty bit out there. I hope you understand.”

Chief Billbray drained the glass and wiped his mouth. “Looks like that one Marine will need some medical attention. The emergency room at the hospital here might do the job. Let my men help him along his way.”

The two chiefs shook hands, and the SEALs drifted out the front door. They forgot Jaybird, who sat in his wheelchair.

Master Chief MacKenzie wheeled him out just as Mahanani came looking for him.

“Sailor, you best get this lad back to Balboa before somebody reports him AWOL,” the chief said. “Hurry on now. I’ve missed enough sleep already.”

“Yes, Master Chief, right away.”

It took MacKenzie three calls to finally find Murdock at JG DeWitt’s home. They talked for five minutes, and then the master chief hung up. There was a small smile on his face as he headed home.

Murdock came away from the phone. Everyone had left the party, and Milly and Ardith were finishing up doing the dishes and putting away the leftovers.

“I’m going to be eating salmon for a week,” DeWitt said. He looked at Murdock. “What did the master chief want?”

“MacB’s turned out to be a bad idea. Big fight with eight Marines and some civilians. Shore Patrol showed up and Mac called MacKenzie. They worked it out with the Shore Patrol chief. Your boys will have some split lips and black eyes come working hours tomorrow.”

“Figures. Where you guys going on your vacation?”

“Flagstaff, Arizona. Supposed to be high and cool and interesting.”

“I’ll be working. Won’t be like the wine country, but I’ll make it.”

“Check on Jaybird. Let’s hope he doesn’t get in trouble over that little trip he took tonight. Work it out.”

The women came in, and they settled on the soft cushions.

“Show him,” Ardith said. She watched Milly. “Go ahead, show him. It won’t change things, but let him see it.”

Milly went over to Murdock and held out her left hand. One finger held a solitaire diamond.

“An engagement ring,” Ardith said. “I just couldn’t resist the chance to let you see it.”

Murdock stood and gave Milly a kiss on the cheek. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer couple. When?”

Milly looked at DeWitt. “We decided sometime in the spring. I’ll take a month off and we’ll go up to Seattle for the honeymoon.”

The next day in Flagstaff, neither of them mentioned the engagement. Ardith had a satisfied little smile most of the time, and Murdock put up with it. They had a lot of talking to do before they even came close to getting engaged.

He flexed his elbow and moved it until his shoulder hurt, then put his right arm deeper into the sling. It was going to be an interesting two weeks. As they toured the small town, he kept thinking about his life and Ardith and where he was heading. He couldn’t be sure of anything yet, not until his shoulder healed and he had the muscles and tendons trained again to the finely honed excellence that being a SEAL required. If he could do it.

What would happen if he couldn’t meet his own set of standards for physical ability? He refused to think about it. Instead he wondered who would jump up to challenge the U.S. next? What small country would try for something extra in international relations? Who would shoot down a U.S. airliner, or try to capture one of our ships and hold it for ransom? There were so many ways that terrorists could affect the world.

He wanted to be there, to be back on the cutting edge. He flexed his right shoulder and winced. No pain medication, but no fun either. Now he had just one job, as Ardith had pointed out to him. He had to get his shoulder back to pre-bullet proficiency. He had to get it healed and trained and strengthened so he could be a SEAL again.

The only question he had now was, could he do it? Could he stay in the SEALs as commander of Third Platoon with special commitment to the CIA, the CNO, and the President?

Only the next three months could give him that answer.