The ride in the six-by truck out to the shooting grounds always took longer than Murdock wanted it to.
By 1030 they were on the ground hiking toward a pair of peaks off the highway by eight miles.
Senior Chief Sadler had given the troops the news. “Men, we’re going on a short hike, about six miles; then we’ll go into combat mode and attack the hill to the left. There are some steep spots and we may have a little rock-climbing work to do to get there. It’s going to take some teamwork and roping. You all have the 600-strength nylon rope. We’ll probably need it. I’ll set the pace at five miles an hour; it’ll help us get the kinks out.”
There were a few grumbles, but nothing Sadler could pick up on. He grinned and led out toward the mountains over the San Diego back country’s dry hills, which received under ten inches of rain a year and grew mostly some low grass and sage. Here and there a splash of green showed in canyons where runoff helped nourish a few live oak trees.
Murdock nodded at the pace. It was strong. The average good walker can do a mile in fifteen minutes, about four minutes to the mile. Five miles is pushing it. Race walkers, who always have one foot on the ground at all times, can do seven to eight miles an hour.
An hour later the sweating SEALs eyed the sharp cliffs and rises in front of them.
“We going up that mutha?” Paul Jefferson, Engineman Second Class, asked. Then he laughed. “Shit, I can do that one blindfolded with one hand.”
Senior Chief Sadler smiled. “Good, Jefferson. You can take the lead. You won’t need any pitons here, but some roping will help. I want you to go up to that first ledge, tie off a rope, and let it down to help anyone up who needs it. I’d just as soon see that rope left untouched by the rest of you.”
Jefferson grinned as he looked at the rock. He’d done some free climbs and quite a bit on rock. He picked his route up the thirty feet to the ledge, and went up it almost without stopping. He kicked loose some rock on one of the footholds. Jefferson tied off his line to a solid upthrust and tossed it down the side.
“Hey, you tenderfeet, you’all can come up now,” Jefferson said.
“Bravo Squad, up the side in combat order. Jefferson, you go up to the next level and wait.”
The climb to the first ledge wasn’t difficult. It took a little care and balance, but the first six men in Bravo made it fine. Only Khai had to grab the rope to keep from falling and power up the last two handholds to the ledge.
Senior Chief Sadler went up the rocks right behind j.g. DeWitt, and then passed the rest on the ledge and worked up thirty-five feet to the second ledge, where Jefferson sat whistling.
“Hey, Senior Chief, about time you got up here. What a view. Look out there, you can see the highway.”
“Yeah, Jefferson, nice view. Now let’s get a rope tied off and down to the first level just in case.”
“Watch Howard, the new guy. Told me he hated rock climbing.”
“Okay, Bravo, send up the squad,” Sadler barked. “Weapons over your backs as usual. Let’s move it.”
The Bravo Squad worked up the next slope, while Alpha came up the first one. The second slope was tougher, with no easy path, and two or three ways that would get you to the top. Fernandez made it with ease; then Franklin went a different route and slipped and skidded four feet back to the ledge. Three SEALs caught him and he tried again. This time he made it.
As the men came to the top of the second shelf, Sadler told Jefferson to lead them off to the left where the ledge bled into a gentle slope toward the top of the mountain.
Ostercamp had some trouble on the second slope, grabbed the rope and saved himself, and went on to the top. From there it went smoothly until Howard started up the second climb. He went up partway, then climbed down and tried another way. On the third try he slipped and fell ten feet down the rocks. Bradford and Lampedusa saw him sliding and broke his fall. All three slammed to the rocky ground, but no bones were broken.
Bradford pointed to the far left route. “That’s the best one, man. Do that one and it’ll be a piece of cake.”
Howard took a deep breath and started up the climb. At the branch to the left route he hesitated, then went that direction and, with only one small slip, gained the top.
Ten minutes later all sixteen SEALs sat in a group on the flank of the mountain looking at the top. Sadler stood and pointed up where they were all looking.
“Nope, we’re not going all the way up. Fact is, it’s time for a short lunch break, twenty minutes to devour those gourmet lunches you brought in your small packs, the ever-loving MREs. So take twenty.”
Meals Ready to Eat were not the favorite of the SEALs, but they had kept them alive more than once on long missions. The SEALs ate what they wanted, and trashed the rest, then carefully picked up every plastic bit and envelope and package, and stuffed it all back in their packs.
Sadler checked his watch, and at precisely twenty minutes after the lunch break started, it ended. “Men, look over to your right. See that snag of a live oak? How far are we from it?”
“A thousand yards,” Ching said.
“More like twelve hundred,” Jaybird chirped.
“Not a chance, it’s not more than nine hundred,” Lampedusa said.
“The scout is right, it’s nine hundred yards. We’re going to capture it. From here to there we have a ravine, a slab of rock an acre wide, and some sagebrush. We’ll go on twenty-yard surges. The rear man gives covering fire as his partner races up twenty yards, goes prone, and when the man behind him stops firing, he opens up as his buddy runs past him and up twenty yards.
“The important points here are two. I want a straight-string line across those men advancing and going prone. Any man more than two feet out of line gets a hundred push-ups on the spot. Second, be sure you don’t gun down your buddy running up beside and then out in front of you.
“Pair off in your combat sequence. We want an eight-man front across here, ten yards apart. Get paired up. I’m with Van Dyke at the end of the line, but I’ll be watching your progress. Any questions?”
“If my partner shoots and kills me, can I have a different partner next time?” Jaybird asked.
“Not a chance, Jaybird, because we’ll be using you for our target in the Shoot the Naked SEAL Runner game.”
The platoon howled in laughter. The Senior Chief had a quick wit to match Jaybird.
“Let’s line up and do it,” Sadler bellowed. They each paired off beginning with the first two men in the combat order, and looked at Sadler.
“This isn’t a race. Keep in line on the run forward. Let’s go. As soon as the first man takes off, his partner should be live-firing five yards to his left. Watch where you’re shooting. Go.”
The eight men ran forward. As soon as they left, the prone eight men began firing. Then all stopped as their partners dove to the ground in the prone and began firing. The backup men ran forward, past their partners, and kept running for twenty yards.
“Keep the fucking line straight,” Sadler brayed as he ran in his turn advancing with the others. They straightened the line, then hit the ground and began firing.
After five rotations of the teams, they had covered two hundred yards, and Sadler blew a whistle. All firing stopped, all men paused in place. Third Platoon hadn’t heard a whistle since most of them were in BUD/S.
“Hold it in place,” Sadler shouted. He went up to the front. “Enough. You have the idea. We don’t need to waste any more ammo. This drill is called teamwork. If you don’t do your job exactly right, precisely the way you’re supposed to, one of you could get shot up and be dead on the spot.”