"When do we push off?" Jaybird asked.
"I've got an appointment with the captain to deboat us at ten minutes after midnight and we should be a mile from shore."
"Any changes from the way we planned it?" Doc asked.
"Our only change is one less man to do the job. I'm moving Red Nicholson to Second Squad to even us up at seven men each. Any other questions?"
"Will those fifty rounds be explosive or tracer?" Ronson asked.
"Both. We want to blow up those fuel tanks and get a chain reaction down a whole fucking line of those SACYDS."
Murdock looked around. No more questions. "Okay, here's the roster. Holt, Ellsworth, Murdock, and Dewitt will carry the CAR-15s. Each of those men will also have two RPGS to haul into the fire zone.
"All the rest of you will tote the M-eighty-eight. Four of you with the eighty-eight will also have one RPG. Those men are Brown, Ronson, Fernandez, and Johnson. Everyone with an eighty-eight will also carry his own fifty rounds.
"Any questions now?"
"Will we have the cloth bibs to carry the RPGS?" Doc Ellsworth asked.
"Yes, some of us call them yokes. A hole for your head with one round in the cloth pouch in front and one in back. Leaves your hands free."
"Those yokes and our web vests?" Johnson asked.
"You want to leave any of your goodies at home?" Dewitt asked. Johnson grinned and shook his head.
"Okay, time. It's now 2312. We'll push away in just an hour. Chief Sterling, check the two IBSS and make sure all the gear is attached including the second inflation canisters.
"The rest of you gather around and draw your weapons and ammo. Don't overstock yourself. Those RPGS are not lightweights. Let's move."
A half hour later the men were ready. All had on their gear, with their faces blackened and their various headgear in place from black stocking caps to balaclavas. They jogged up and down and adjusted their loads of weapons, ammo, and gear. Then they sat down in a row and waited for the call to disembark.
13
The pair of IBSS rode off the aft deck of the submarine and slid into the China Sea a little over a mile off Foochow. The silent-running motors powered the little boats away from the wash of the sub and toward land to the west. Murdock checked his watch. Two minutes behind schedule. Close enough.
Murdock went over the plans again. He could find no flaw. They would motor into the Min River Bay, which they estimated to be three miles long. If they could work the IBSS in that far, they would leave them in a brushy marsh on the left-hand shore almost near the end. They would deflate the boats and hide them for use later.
If all went according to plan.
The airfield was about three miles from the bay to the north. They would infiltrate to the border fence and determine if they had a good field of fire. There was no telling how far the fence was from the parked planes, or if the planes would be in the same position as four hours ago.
The men in the two inflatables stayed in visual contact with each other. They would use up most of an hour moving against a slight current and the start of an outgoing tide, but there was no way around that.
Later Murdock checked his watch. He had just heard the first sound of the surf. It was 0116. Still pretty much on schedule. They prepared to go through the surf. Murdock had checked his compass twice in the past five minutes and was sure they were on the right line. But the surf shouldn't be this high if they were at the bay.
They were still fifty meters off the breaker line when he saw the bay opening to the left. He got the attention of the second boat and powered parallel to the beach until they were in the quieter waters of the bay mouth.
He checked the shore a quarter of a mile on each side. He found no guards, no military. He drove the small boat into the center of the bay mouth through swells that didn't break, and then they were inside.
The left shore held trees and grassy areas. The right had houses and shacks and buildings. They hugged the left shore.
Lights blossomed on the left shore, and they heard a truck start up and gear down as it rolled away from them.
"Troops?" Jaybird asked in a whisper.
Murdock shook his head. No way to tell. They moved through the bay expecting at any moment to meet a patrol boat or to be targeted with a searchlight and a stuttering machine gun. Nothing happened.
They could see the dim outline of the end of the bay ahead, and Murdock checked the shore, then steered the boat into the edge of the water and grounded it. Six men jumped out and pulled the boat up the grassy bank. One man hit the valve that held in the air, and the boat deflated quickly.
Five minutes later both IBSS were buried under a scattering of dirt and leaves and tree branches.
"Now, let's remember where they are," Jaybird said. He found three flat rocks and piled them on top of each other near the shoreline. It would do.
As they worked on the IBSS, Red Nicholson had taken a quick scout beyond the woods and to the north. He came back with his report before they were ready to leave.
"Nothing between us and the boundary fence of the airfield, L-T. But you ain't gonna be happy with the view."
"Why, Red?"
"Can't see the planes at all. This is in a little low point and there's a rise on the runway and no fucking way can we hit them planes from down here."
Murdock noted the report and spread out his men in the usual formation. He put Nicholson on point, followed by himself and then his radioman, Holt. Besides their short-range Motorola MX-300 belt radios, they had a backpack radio. It was the new AN/PRC-117D. It weighed only fifteen pounds, was fifteen inches high, eight wide, and three deep. Holt carried it on his back, sometimes under protest.
The tactical radio operated on several modes and multiple frequency bands and replaced three different radios the SEALS had used before.
It picked up and sent UHF satellite communications called SATCOM. It could reach anywhere in the world through that linkup. It had a UHF line-of-sight ability to talk to aircraft and direct air strikes. It handled VHF or FM, used for tactical contact by most armies in the world, which was the same band their Motorola MX-300 walkie-talkies used.
Holt could change bands by flipping a switch and setting up an antenna. Power went anywhere from ten watts down to one-tenth of a watt. A special encryption system for coding transmissions was built into the radio. The crypto system could be changed at any time by entering a new set of numbers. They could also transmit with compressed data bursts that lasted only a millisecond.
With this radio Murdock could talk directly with the President, the CNO, or Coronado's Third Platoon day-room.
If they needed some help in a rush they could ask for it. Here in the wilds of China the odds of them getting any close air support, say, was not good. But they could ask.
Red led them through the woods and parallel to the fence. All growth had been cut back ten meters on both sides of the fence, which was chain-link with razor wire on the top. They could cut through it if they had to.
A half mile along the fence, the land rose and they could see the aircraft parked on the hard runway. They were at least seven hundred meters away.
"Too damn far," Murdock said. He sent a guard both ways thirty meters along the fence, then called on Gunner's Mate Second Class Greg Johnson, who had a pair of wire cutters with fold-out handles for lots of pressure on the blades.
"Right here, Johnson. We want a three-foot-high hole and we need it last week."