“It is, Commander. Point of fact. We’re not sailors, we’re SEALs. A good thing to remember. I’m Murdock. What’s happening?”
Ten minutes later the SEALs had washed the sand off their cammies in the surf and run by squads a half mile down the strand to where a strange-looking vehicle stood with a dozen regular Navy officers and men milling around it.
The black-shoed lieutenant commander rode a Humvee down the strand, and arrived only a minute before the SEALs.
A three-striper stepped out of the crowd and grinned at the dripping SEALs.
“Murdock, I don’t how you do it, but we have a package for you. Came air freight this morning at North Island with your name on it. No explanation, just deliver it to you for evaluation. Not to be used on any real operations, but simulated ones are fine. That’s all I know. What the hell is happening?”
“A new toy to play with, Commander Eckert.”
“This one came under the signature of the CNO,” Eckert said with a touch of awe. “You have friends in high places.”
“All in a day’s work. It’s called the combat entry/attack vehicle. We had a hand in the general design and capability, and made some suggestions about what we hoped it would contain.”
The commander moved closer. “It’s an amphibian, Murdock?”
“Looks that way. That’s what we asked for. Is your entourage ready to get back to the regular Navy? We usually don’t train with an audience.”
Eckert grinned and waved. “All except the two civilians. They sent some engineers along to check with you. You have fun with your toy. It’s yours sink or swim, as the saying goes. I’ll get these people out of here. Good luck.”
The SEALs had dropped to the hard sand in squad formation, since no order had been given otherwise. They watched the regular Navy types get into vehicles and drive up the strand to where they could get out on the road and head out to wherever they came from.
Murdock went back to the SEALs and waved. “Our baby has arrived. We talked about this a year or so ago. Some of you were in on it. We call it the Turtle. What’s a turtle?”
“Hell, something we make soup out of at home,” Mahanani said. He drew two laughs.
“Yeah, it’s also an air-breathing amphibian,” Frank Victor said.
“This creature swims?” Jaybird asked. “Underwater or on top?”
“Not do us much good if it were a submarine,” Murdock said. “From what I remember, we wanted a rig that could be hoisted onto a destroyer, then launched ten, fifteen miles off target and we move onshore with it, then right up a beach and toward our land target. A true entry vehicle and, we hope, with some firepower.”
Murdock watched his men. They were interested, eager to learn more about this new weapon. “Okay, let’s move over and check it out. Nobody inside yet. Be nice to the civilians. They can’t help it. Move out.”
4
The two civilians standing beside the Turtle wore brilliant Hawaiian print shirts, Bermuda shorts, and sunglasses. One was tall with a beard, the other one short and wearing a SEALs cap. The SEALs didn’t pay any attention to them.
Murdock took his first close look at the machine. It was about twice the size of a rubber duck. Sat on four tires that were twice as wide as most car tires and that looked under-inflated. Reminded Murdock of sand tires on a dune buggy. It had a bow, hull, and closed front end that stopped with a slanted steel panel that extended up two feet where the windshield should be. There were four view slots in it. The whole outside of the rig was made of dull green steel with no sharp corners.
Ed DeWitt came up rubbing his chin. “Damn thing is sixteen feet long and has twin screws aft. Crazy-looking tub. Didn’t we ask for a fifty MG up front? Where the hell is that one?”
The tall civilian with the beard came up to Murdock and grinned. “You must be Commander Murdock, the honcho of this outfit. I’m Dunwoody, helped create this mutha.”
Murdock took the offered hand. “Mr. Dunwoody, I’ll get the men corralled here and you can give us a rundown on the Turtle. Take it from the top, we’re in no rush.”
Murdock bellowed, and the SEALs came to one side of the Turtle where the civilian stood.
“Gentlemen, at last we have a prototype to show you,” said Dunwoody. “Hear you call her the Turtle. Good as any. First some statistics you don’t need to remember. She’s sixteen feet four inches long from bow to the propeller. No headlights, she’s not road-certified. She has a beam of six feet and four, which means she will roll a little in a rough sea.
“Yes, she swims, but leaves little more than eighteen inches of freeboard to present the lowest possible profile to give radar operators fits. She buttons up tight on top and stays dry inside. Room for eight and a driver. She’s unsinkable. Has built-in buoyancy panels so she can fill up with water and still stay afloat.
“She has Cadloy steel armor plate overall that protects her against 7.62 rifle fire. Power is a liquid-cooled Cummins V-504 diesel with two hundred and two horsepower. Her top road-cruising speed is fifty-five miles an hour, slightly less than that cross-country. The wheels gyro down when she hits the dirt to give you two-foot-obstacle clearance. Water speed has been pushed up to twelve knots with the least possible engine noise.
“To give you firepower, a turret raises hydraulically just behind the driver’s chair. This Turtle is fitted with a .50- caliber machine gun with a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree field of fire. Any questions?”
“Yeah, how does it switch from propeller to wheel power when we get it on land?” Frank Victor asked.
“Good question. It’s automatic, all done with sensors on the wheels. Once the wheels hit the sand or shore, the computer signals the drive shaft, which switches in half a second from prop to wheels and you’re off and driving.”
“Has she got a steering wheel, or do we just drag one foot to turn?” Jaybird cracked.
“Steering wheel, and gearshift for the automatic transmission. Not even a stick. Another thing might surprise you, electronic brakes with brake pedal and all.”
“Has this one been wet?” DeWitt asked.
“Took a joyride this morning in the bay and then into the ocean,” the shorter civilian with the cap said. “You won’t be doing any waterskiing behind her, but overall, we’re happy with this machine.”
The tall engineer opened a swing-up door on the side of the craft. “Take a look inside,” he said.
The SEALs crowded around it and gave their approval. Inside, it wasn’t a bare-bones metal can; it had bench seats along both sides, room for gear in back, and a swivel chair for the driver/boatman up front. Just behind him was the raised turret and the handles of a mounted .50-caliber machine gun where a man could stand and see out viewing slots on the side of the turret.
“I need seven men for a demo ride,” the bearded civilian said.
“Alpha Squad,” Murdock barked. “We’ve only got seven. Front and center and board. Who drives?”
The tall one was already inside and in the driver’s seat as the SEALs stepped on board. They quickly realized they had to bend over so they wouldn’t clunk their heads. They looked over the inside closer. It had racks on the short walls to tie down gear, and a large first-aid kit. They sat on the benches, and found them to be wider than usual and with foam padding on them. Murdock took the spot behind the driver and looked at the console of instruments. The dashboard looked more like a car than a boat. It had the usual auto readouts, lights for overheating, low oil, generating, and a fuel gauge. The steering wheel was about two thirds the size of that on a car and heavily padded. The bearded man swiveled his chair around.
“Ready back there?”
He got a chorus of ayes, and pushed a button on the dash to close the side hatch.