Murdock put Doc in the lead with Magic Brown as they towed the body bag. So far it was floating thanks to the trapped air inside the plastic bag. Doc established a slow crawl stroke and they moved away from China.
Two minutes later a flash of light blossomed on the sea to the southeast.
"Right on sched," Frazier said. "Good-bye patrol boat."
They heard the large Chinese ship's engines again.
"They're coming back," Murdock said. "If he gets anywhere close or that damned searchlight is about to hit us, we duck-dive until it's dark and clear."
Five minutes later the Chinese cutter swept past them a quarter of a mile seaward. The big searchlight came nowhere near their position. They continued to swim away from shore.
Doc called to Murdock, who swam up beside him.
"Losing air out of the bag, L-T. The things weren't designed to be float bags. Air coming out around the end of the zipper. Another ten minutes and we'll be towing him underwater."
"You're on point, we'll follow at your speed."
They had been in the water for forty-five minutes by then. They hadn't planned on a swim and had decided back on the carrier not to wear wet suits under their land-action cammies. Now the cold was starting to get to all of them. Not as bad as a four-hour training session off Coronado in winter, but cold enough to numb fingers and toes.
"He's coming back," Magic called softly.
The hulk of the Chinese cutter was almost on them this time. They waited until the searchlight swung their way, then dove. It took both Magic and Doc to keep Johnson's body bag just below the surface of the choppy green water. They kicked downward and stroked down and managed to keep the green bag submerged until the yellow light above them swung past. Both surfaced with lungs burning.
They all came up and sounded off in a quick count, and Murdock knew he had all of his men. They watched the dark hulk of the cutter slowly move away from them heading for the coast.
"The cluster-fucking Chinese Navy has done it again," Jaybird said. They all laughed in a tension easing moment.
Doc and Magic moved out again to the east towing their dead friend behind them.
A half hour later they were still swimming. Murdock called a halt.
Doc said it for all of them. "Where the fuck is that damn sub? We've had that sonar beeper in the water for almost two hours. They chicken bastards and won't come in this close to shore?"
Murdock told them all to float and relax. He found Dewitt and they talked.
"Should have found us before now," Murdock's second said.
"Must have been that Chinese cutter that spooked them," Murdock said. "The screws might have sounded like a destroyer."
"That's been over half an hour ago."
"We could shoot up a red flare," Murdock said.
"Yeah, and have half the Chinese Navy on our backs in twenty minutes."
"I don't think so. They got their noses bloodied twice, they won't want to try for three in a row."
"You have a flare gun?" Dewitt asked.
"Always carry one." Murdock took the small flare gun from his fanny pack and broke open the waterproof plastic seal. "Loaded and ready to go."
"Let's do it," Dewitt said.
The muffled report of the flare gun and then the brilliant red flare on a parachute surprised the SEALS. "This is crazy," Sterling said. "Get ready to dive again," Chin agreed. "Might work," Brown said. "Nothing else is fucking working."
The thirteen men watched the flare drifting to their right. The bright red flare burned for almost a minute, then sputtered out.
The SEALS waited.
Less than a minute later a bullhorn sounded to the east of them. "Got you, swimmers. Where are your two IBSS?"
The SEALS gave a cheer.
Ten minutes later they were all on board the USS Dorchester changing into dry clothes.
Murdock checked his watch 0422. Plenty of dark time out there. They were scheduled to rendezvous with the carrier as quickly as they could get there. They would have a few hours of sleep and then get ready for the second half of their mission. Murdock grinned. This was beginning to feel a lot like Hell Week back at the Coronado BUD/S training command.
16
Lieutenant Blake Murdock sat at his desk in the home base headquarters of the Seal Team Seven. He stared at the list of names of the men in his two squads in the Third Platoon. He was still tired. He was grouchy as hell and he had a monster headache.
Third Platoon had been back from Lebanon for ten days. He'd given the men three-day leaves, and had tried to catch up on his sleep himself. His butt and both legs still hurt like they were on fire. The medics had told him to stay in bed for a week and let the shrapnel wounds heal. Sure, a week in bed.
He stared at the list of men again, concentrating now on the three with red circles around them.
Chief Petty Officer "Kos" Kosciuszko was dead and buried on foreign soil. Murdock hated that as much as any part of the Lebanon mission. SEALS just didn't leave a KIA behind. This time there was no possible way they could have brought him out. Koz had been with the platoon a long time, longer than Murdock had, and he was the anchor of the operation. He had to be replaced.
Razor Roselli, his longtime Platoon Chief, was still in Balboa Naval Hospital in San Diego with a shattered ankle. If it didn't heal right it would mean Roselli would be out of the SEALS. Roselli had more combat experience than any other man in the platoon. He'd be hard to replace.
His right hand on a mission, his radioman, Bill Higgins, was in critical condition with a badly shot-up side. If he lived he would probably never be fit for SEAL duty again.
Three good men. How did he replace them?
He stared at the roster again. Ron Holt. He'd seen a lot of good action from Ron. Ron was a cool head who obeyed commands in an instant. Yes, he'd move him up to be his radioman. That still left two big holes.
He had moved Jaybird Sterling up as Platoon Chief on the ship just after they got out of the Blackhawk chopper. So far Jaybird had done a fine job. He had persuaded, cajoled, threatened, and bullied the men to get their equipment squared away, their reports written and their lost weapons detailed. He'd be fine in that post.
So far he was measuring up. Several men in the platoon had more combat experience than Jaybird, but none had the guts, the bravado, and the cool decision-making and problem-solving in action that Jaybird had shown. Jaybird it was.
Murdock had his first cup of coffee, and then looked over the roster of unassigned SEALS there in Coronado.
Each man was listed with his name, rank, specialty, physical description, length of service and a picture.
Murdock picked out Electrician's Mate Second Class Henry "Horse" Ronson for his machine gunner to replace Kos. He was six-four and 230 pounds of muscle. If he passed an interview he'd be assigned to First Squad.
That left two slots to bring him up to TOE. He needed a man who could handle explosives. All SEALS are trained to be sappers, but it was beneficial to have one man specially trained and outstanding at his work. He picked out Willy "The Priest" Bishop, an Electrician Mate Second Class, to fill that spot.
A linguist would help. He went over the available list of SEALS to see if any had been to language school. One man had. He could speak Spanish and French, Tagalog, Russian, and four dialects of Chinese. Yeah, that should cover most of the world. He looked at the man's picture. He was Chinese. Kenneth Ching, Quartermaster First Class.
Murdock made a phone call to personnel and told them to send the three men over that morning for interviews at 1100. The platoon should be back from PT by then.