“Pilot says forty minutes to the airfield,” DeWitt said. Mahanani worked on Ostercamp. He had the bleeding stopped, and now put two blankets from the chopper on him.
“Keep his head up,” the medic said. “We don’t want him to go into shock. Stay with us, Ostercamp. I’ve never lost a patient yet, and you sure as hell ain’t going to be my first.”
Ostercamp gave him a thin grin, and closed his eyes. “Damn, but that hurts.”
Mahanani injected another ampoule of morphine into Ostercamp’s arm, and Ostercamp nodded.
Later, De Witt came back and touched the medic’s sleeve. “Pilot says we’re twenty minutes out. How’s he doing?”
“Can’t tell. He’s breathing ragged, so he’s got some lung damage. Don’t know about internal bleeding. Missed his gut, I think, but no way of knowing if the slug broke up inside. He’s conscious and talking, which is good. He’s gonna make it, j.g. I don’t let none of my guys cash in. Not on my fucking watch.”
DeWitt slapped him on the back and went back to the cabin up front.
Murdock had checked. There were no other wounded. One was too damn many. Ostercamp would be out of action.
“Did you see those fucking twenties hit that formation?” Bradford asked. “I saw one hit and it blew this rebel into twenty pieces. No lie. One round must have taken out twenty of them, and they got three rounds. Then we pulled back to the five-five-six. Damn. Those twenties are just plain murder against a formation of troops.”
“What were the shitheads doing in formation after their home base was attacked?” Jaybird asked. “They were a bunch of stupid assholes who will never make that mistake again.”
The power changed and the rotors slowed a little as the big bird made a gentle turn and then settled down on the pad at the airfield. The pilot had called, and an ambulance waited twenty feet away. By the time the wheels touched the ground, a gurney had been rolled up and four medics and doctors waited. Mahanani and Howard picked up Ostercamp’s 210-pound body and gently put him on the rolling stretcher.
DeWitt took over the platoon, and Murdock went in the ambulance. He’d shucked out of his combat vest and given it and his Bull Pup to Lam.
The ambulance used siren and lights as it streaked through the night traffic to a civilian hospital on the edge of Davao. At the emergency entrance, they tried to keep Murdock out, but one look at his worried and determined countenance and they let him go in.
He stood outside the emergency mini-operating room as two residents and two doctors worked over Ostercamp. They did some preliminary work, hung some fluids and stabilized him, and rolled him to an elevator to take him to surgery.
Two hours later, Murdock stood as a pair of doctors came into the waiting room outside the operating rooms.
“Commander?”
“Yes, about Ostercamp?”
“The young man is out of danger. He took a round high in his chest and it cut through his left lung, but we’ve repaired that and removed the bullet. It didn’t shatter, so we got it all. There’s some more minor damage, but the internal bleeding was minimal and his lung will heal as good as new. He won’t be going on any long hikes or swimming for at least three months.”
Murdock shook the man’s hand, then looked down at his own dirty hands and jungle-filthy clothes. Couldn’t be helped.
“Thanks, Doctor. He’s an important man in our operation. We thank you.”
When Murdock walked out of the hospital, a young Filipino Air Force man came up to him.
“Commander Murdock?” Blake nodded. “I’m here to drive you back to your quarters, courtesy of General Domingo.”
“Thanks. Tell the general that I really appreciate it, and that our wounded man is going to be all right.”
By the time the airman had driven Murdock back to the barracks/meeting room, most of the SEALs had showered and hit their bunks. He had no idea what time it was. When he looked at his watch, he was surprised that it was only 0135.
DeWitt hurried over, a question on his tired face.
“Yeah, Ostercamp’s going to make it. Should recover fully.” Murdock told DeWitt what the doctor had told him.
“Good, but for three months I want a temporary replacement,” DeWitt said. “A warm body to fill in the slot. We need him for training. Of course that’s after we get back to the States. By then I may need half a new squad, or maybe the squad will need a new squad leader.”
“You can’t give up on me now, hotshot,” Murdock said.
“Just my out-of-gas brain talking,” DeWitt said. “We hurt them bad out there tonight, but we’re not a bit closer to finding the hostages.”
“Our best hope now is that General Domingo can tie down some good intel on the camps. For sixty people it would have to be a big camp. I was hoping that one we hit was it.”
Murdock yawned. He shook his head and looked at the showers in the latrine area. Yes. Now. Tomorrow he would talk to General Domingo about the hostages. Maybe he had some new information or ideas where they could be hiding the hostages.
The next morning at 0830, General Domingo put in a call for Murdock. He went to the general’s office with DeWitt, Senior Chief Sadler, Jaybird, and Juan. The general frowned a moment as he looked at the team.
“I understand you do much of your planning and attack workups by committee. I’ve never seen enlisted men on this level before, but if it works for you, fine. Now, I’ve had a sketchy report about your mission last night. Could you fill me in with the particulars?”
Murdock motioned to Lieutenant Juan Ejercito. He gulped once and then gave a precise report about their recon, the attack itself, and the approximate number of casualties inflicted on the rebels.
“Pardon me, Lieutenant, but you say you believe that you killed or wounded over one hundred rebels?”
“Yes, sir. Some of them were undoubtedly raw recruits, but they had weapons and fired at us. We think we closed down for all practical purposes the training camp there at the town, which we hear is called Bunga.”
“Any contact with the hostages?”
“No, sir, we found nothing to indicate they were there on the recon I made through the town, or when we attacked. We believe the hostages are not being held at Bunga.”
Murdock spoke up. “Sir, we didn’t do a house-by-hut search, but if they had hostages there, we believe there would have been a good-sized guard force around them. We saw no such force, and the buildings we burned were manned and guarded by only a few of the rebels.”
The general nodded and sipped at a cup of coffee. He put it down, then smiled. “Gentlemen, would you like some coffee?” They all declined, and he took another drink. “Lately I’ve been living on the stuff.” The general turned to the Filipino lieutenant.
“Ejercito, you were named to be liaison with the SEALs by the colonel. I checked that out, meaning I went over your record with a magnifying glass. Your CO was right. I liked what I saw. And since your CO had to fight to get you on this detail, I like it even more. You’ll stay. Can’t say the same for Master Sergeant Estrada. He’s been shipped back to his outfit and reduced in rank. We found several questionable contacts with people associated with the rebels. I’ll send you a new man.” The general looked at the SEALs. “None of you seem surprised.”
“Estrada was in my squad, General,” DeWitt said. “I found no fault with him in camp or in the fighting. He performed well.”
“But when might he betray you or a mission?” the general asked. He went on. “We have what we think is a significant break. Some of our agents working the far west coast of the island have been contacted by a family whose son was executed for trying to leave the rebel cause. They were bitter and had a lot to say that their son had told them. He had been on the hostage guard detail. The parents of the dead boy, who was just past seventeen, told us where the hostages were held for a time and where they were moved.”