Lieutenant Blake Murdock felt something slam into his upper left arm. He spun and sprawled in the dirt. Ching rolled over beside him.
"Won't work, Lieutenant," Ching said. "We better haul ass out of here."
Murdock felt the waves of pain billowing through his arm, down to his torso, and up to his brain. He gritted his teeth to hold in the moan. Some of it came out. "You hit, L-T?" Ching asked.
"Yeah, arm. Get us out of here."
"Pull back to the ditch," Ching bellowed. "Crawl, it'll be safer. No more firing."
They moved. Ching helped Murdock crawl. Elbows usually do most of the work pulling the body ahead. Murdock only had one elbow that was contributing. They worked slowly. The fire had slowed, then stopped from the Chinese. They had no targets. They knew their enemy was out there somewhere, but the night and a drift of clouds over the moon had helped to save the SEALS' skins.
By the time Ching and Murdock made it to the irrigation ditch a hundred yards behind the road, Doc was waiting for them.
"We got one more casualty," he said. He looked at Murdock's arm. "Shit, we've got two more casualties, sir." He stripped the cammie back and worked on the wound, wrapping it after dosing it with antibiotic powder. A shot of morphine followed.
Murdock lay there breathing hard. He shook his head. "Who else got hit?"
"Ronson, took one in the thigh. Nasty one. I think it slanted off a bone. He's hurting, but says he can walk, run, and swim to get the hell out of here."
Murdock tried to reason it through. The pain kept crowding out his thoughts. He shook his head again. "No more of that damn morphine, Doc. No more for me. Where's Holt?"
"On the other side, L-T. Want me to crank up the SATCOM?"
"Yeah."
Holt pulled out the folding antenna, and a moment later had sent a message to the carrier.
"On beach. Enemy on three sides, closing in. If we don't get help in a half hour, it won't do us any good. What's the status?"
Don Stroh came on sounding tired. "Damn little help. We've been twisting balls all night. We-" He stopped.
"We got it." His voice broke. "Christ, we got confirmation. The Taiwanese Air Force launched fighters and choppers twenty minutes ago from a base just across the strait from you. They could be on-site any time. Give them a no-shoot red flare to mark your position. We worked that out early on. Hang on, guys, help is coming."
38
Holt gave a muffled cheer. Doc grinned and gave him a thumbs-up.
"You hear that, sir? The Taiwan folks are coming with jets and choppers, could be here anytime. Left Taiwan twenty minutes ago."
Murdock heard it through a haze. Damn morphine. He yawned and blinked, then shook his head. A shiver lanced down his back. His arm hurt like hell.
"Heard. Thanks. Look alive, guys. Security. Pull the line in tighter. Security all around the perimeter. Got a chance to get out of this rat hole, let's not blow it. Damn Chinese could put on an attack any time."
"Red flares, sir. They mentioned red flares."
"Yeah, yeah. Got them here somewhere." Murdock dug out two flares. They were marked red and could be lit and thrown or fired in to the air. "Do them, Holt, when the time comes. Make damn sure it's a Taiwan jet. They'll come from the sea hunting us." Pain washed over him and he grimaced. "Damn, damn it to hell. Fucking damn."
Murdock pushed up with his good arm and looked at Holt. "Flares, they say we should mark our position, or where we want the jets to shoot?"
"Our position, L-T. Red is for a no-shoot location, like to spot a downed flyer by air search."
"Yeah, right. Yeah."
Holt looked at Doc in the gloom. Doc shook his head. "He said no more morphine. Have to gut it out. He can do it. Now let's watch for those damn Chinese ground troops."
The Chinese at the highway directly in front of them lifted up and fired over the embankment.
Holt took a quick look. "Must be thirty rifles out there now," he said.
"Don't return fire," Jaybird said. "They don't even know if we're here or not. Keep them in the dark." The firing from the front continued, but at a slower pace. Soon it was down to a round or two every minute. Dewitt came and settled in beside Murdock. "How you doing, Skipper?"
"Damn good. Am I still conscious?"
"Just a little slug in your arm. No sweat. Hear we're to have some Taiwan Air Force company."
"Anytime now. We mark red, they shoot in front."
"Then we charge through the bodies into the surf," Dewitt said. "I like the sound of that. Everyone can walk. Frazier did good on that assault on the highway. He's no worry."
"I'll make it if I have to crawl," Murdock said.
Red tilted his head and looked toward the sea. "We've got friendlies coming in directly in front of us and low."
Murdock couldn't hear them. "When you're damn sure, Holt, throw out that first red flare."
Holt listened, then nodded. A minute later the sound of the jets was unmistakable. Coming right at you they project little sound. He pulled the tape off the flare and held it.
"Jets just changed direction," Red said.
Then they all could hear the whine of the Mach-2 jets. They slammed overhead at two hundred feet and made the ground shake.
"Friendlies, all right," Red said. Holt looked at Dewitt, who nodded.
Holt lit the flare and threw it twenty feet in front of their ditch. It exploded into a bright red flare that turned the landscape into a red wonderland for twenty yards around. The two jets made a wide turn and came back parallel with the beach. Six rockets streamed from wings of the jets. They hit in sequence up the highway, then walked down and past the red flare, smashing into paving and the far side, blowing the troops there into a mass of screaming bodies.
Dewitt looked at the results. There was no firing from the Chinese in front.
"One more pass," he said. The jets made another wide turn and came in from the other direction. Again rockets and cannon fire blasted the highway in front of the still-burning red flare.
Dewitt stood and shouted. "On your feet, moving out. Be ready with assault fire. Go, go, go."
Holt watched Murdock as he pushed up with his right arm, held the MP-5 in his right hand, and stepped over the ridge of the ditch and into the paddy field. They ran forward in a ragged line. They took no fire as they approached the paved highway. Then two Chinese lifted up to fire at them. Bursts of three rounds from four MP-5's blew them out of their shoes and dead in the sand.
Murdock lagged behind. Then Holt came beside him and urged him on. He took the lieutenant's weapon, caught his shoulder, and helped him to run forward.
"No damn reason I can't run," Murdock brayed in fury.
"It's the morphine," Holt yelled. They heard firing to the front and kept going. Magic Brown waited at the drop-off on the other side of the paving. He grabbed Murdock and lifted him down. Then they all charged into the sand.
Murdock wanted to start singing. He was a terrible singer. The sand felt so good, so natural under his feet. He heard Dewitt shouting. What he said wasn't clear.
Holt stayed with his L-T. They took some ragged fire from well up the beach beyond the rocket attack of the planes. Then they were wading into the water, the Taiwan Strait. How long they had yearned to feel its cold kiss.
Holt listened to Dewitt and dropped the CAR he had been carrying into the surf. He shucked out of his vest loaded with all the combat goodies, but kept the SATCOM radio over his shoulder. Murdock let him take his combat vest off and drop it in the surf. Then they jumped a breaker, ducked under the next one, and were swimming.