Murdock put Train on the ground and looked for the hit. He didn’t find it at first. Then he looked closer, pulled open his shirt, and there it was, one small turning-purple hole right over his heart. He’d died in the microsecond that the bullet hit him.
“Cease fire,” Murdock said. “Tran is gone. Took one round in the heart. Every man with a weapon, now, and stay under cover. Get the bastards, Jaybird.”
Jaybird came out from behind the large mahogany tree and worked forward. He moved like a ghost, not making a sound, edging under, around, and through the growth, not fighting it, accepting it and passing it by. He stopped to listen. Nothing. He worked ahead again toward the spot he had picked out as most likely to hold the snipers.
Again he stopped. He listened, but heard nothing. He worked ahead for twenty yards and stopped. This time he heard whispering. Two of them. He angled to the right, worming his way through heavy growth flat on his belly, his H & K MP-5 sub gun cradled on his forearms. Jaybird stopped and listened. More whispers. Then a clicking sound. A fresh magazine sliding home into the receiver.
Jaybird headed directly for the whispers now. He figured he was still twenty feet away. Then he edged around a tree trunk and saw them. Both had settled down behind a mahogany tree that had fallen long ago and was three feet thick. They must have lifted up and fired over the trunk, then dropped down.
Jaybird was behind the log. He sighted in on single-shot and drove one 9mm Parabellum through the side of the farthest man’s skull. He jolted to the side. The other man fell to the ground and began to squirm away. Jaybird watched him, pushed the lever to three rounds, and sprayed the rebel with twelve rounds. Jaybird waited a minute, then moved in and checked the weapons. A sub gun and an AK- 47. He took them and extra magazines and hiked back to the compound.
“Scratch two in the first race,” Jaybird said on the net. “Two down and dirty. Is Train really gone?”
“Afraid so, Jaybird,” Murdock said. “A heart shot. Nothing we can do.”
“Fuck!”
“You can say that again,” Van Dyke said.
“Fuck again,” Jaybird said.
It was almost a half hour later before they heard the sound of the chopper coming in. They had raided the big house for all the good food they could find. Mahanani found a bottle of whiskey that he confiscated for “medical purposes only” and put in his pack. Four men covered the south area in a defensive line as the bird landed in the backyard. General Domingo was the first one out of the craft, and he grinned.
“Got us some airpower,” he said. “You get our guests off all right?”
“No problem, General. Only we had a sniper attack by two of the guards we flushed out when we came. They caught one man in the open and he’s KIA.”
“Sorry, Murdock. I know how close you men become. A damn shame. You track down the snipers?”
“Jaybird did and they paid the price. You know where the other hostages are?”
“It’s a probable. Maybe the leader of the rebels too. I’ve got twenty Army Rangers coming in and two more birds. We’re going to have a shot at this place bright and early in the morning.”
“Why not tonight?”
“We’re not sure where we’re going, and we don’t want to tip him off with a recon flight. We can talk about it. We’ll get you and your men out of here and in some quarters in Lebak, and take him at dawn.”
“We need to get Tran on his way back to the States.”
“Yes, we’ll do that as soon as we get to Lebak. A chopper will take him to Davao. I’ll have the Army provide a casket and do preliminary work, then get him on a flight to the States as quickly as possible.”
“I’ll need to call San Diego in California and tell my CO. He’ll notify the family.”
Senior Chief Sadler had the men police the area. When they were done, no one could prove that the SEALs had been there, except for the line of corpses by the barracks. They left the two in the jungle where they had fallen. The men put Train on the chopper first, then the rest filed on, looking more serious than usual.
Murdock gave the general a thumbs-up, and the general spoke to the first lieutenant flying the chopper and it lifted off, on its way down the coast as the afternoon shadows began to lengthen.
The first thing Murdock did when they landed at Lebak was go to the police station and use their telephone. It took fifteen minutes to get the right operator and get through to San Diego.
Commander Dean Masciareli was not pleased to take the call. He knew it was Murdock.
“This better be damn important, Murdock. It’s two A.M. here.”
“We lost a man today, Tran Khai. One bullet right through his heart. He’s on his way home. Somebody has to tell his folks. This is an open mission, so you can tell his mother exactly what is going on, how we just rescued thirty-one hostages. The boy’s a hero and should get a medal. I’ll leave that up to you.”
Masciareli scowled, then let out a long sigh. “Yeah, Murdock, I’ll make the phone call, and somebody nearest his home will send out a chaplain to tell them. Least we can do. You done there?”
“No, sir. We still have eighteen hostages we need to find. But we think we know where they are. We’re eating a lot of bananas.”
“Fine, let me know when you close that operation. I’ll call the CNO, but this should be an open newsworthy mission. Then I’ll call the closest base to Khai’s family. Out.”
Murdock snorted and hung up the phone. Yeah, out. That’s how he felt at that minute. Another KIA. That was ten or eleven? Christ, he couldn’t even remember. He had the number back in Coronado.
By the time Murdock came out of the police station and walked two blocks over to their barracks, the next two choppers from Davao had landed. The ten Filipino Army Rangers who charged out of each bird looked fit and combat ready. They bunked with the SEALs in a warehouse where cots of all kinds had been hurriedly set up by the local police.
The men filed through a local restaurant for a late lunch, and were served large portions of adobo. It was a dark, saucy stew of chicken and pork, flavored with vinegar and soy sauce, garlic, and chunks of liver. There were stacks of rolls and butter, coffee, and a big fruit salad served family-style in huge stainless-steel bowls.
“Better than MREs,” Ching said.
General Domingo had been busy. He called Murdock, a lieutenant from the Rangers, and Murdock’s brain trust of DeWitt, Sadler, Jaybird, and Lam to a conference at the end of the warehouse.
“I’ve found two men who know the Eagle’s Nest,” Domingo said. “It was built about ten years ago by a reclusive millionaire. He lived there for two months, then his wife died and he left the place and sold it. We’re not sure who owns it now, but we do have a sketch of the place, the road, the buildings, and something of the inside of the main house.
“It may have been changed a lot by now. We do know that there has been a large barracks and mess hall built to serve the fifty guards that the leader has up there. He never comes into town. He sends someone for whatever he needs. The guards up there are not rotated. They are his permanent private guard team. Which means they know the landscape, the weak points, and the spots where someone could try to get in. That makes it a lot tougher.”
“Where might he have the hostages?” Lam asked.
“Our guess is in the barracks building. Part of it could be used for the eighteen.”
“What about access?” the Ranger lieutenant named Quezon asked.
“There’s a good road up from the highway on the coast. It’s about six miles, the locals say. There are no trails or any other easy access from the sides or back. In back of the place there is a four-hundred-foot vertical wall that geologists have had trouble explaining. So it’s possible to get someone in from both sides.”