“Yes.”
“Murdock,” DeWitt whispered into his mike, “I have the whole staff, all safe and well. No grenades. You are facing a force of one man.”
“Roger that,” Murdock whispered back. He began to edge forward. The bullhorn had been pushed out one of two rooms into the hall. It was silent now. Which room? Murdock picked the first one to clear or to kill. He moved to the very edge of the door and looked around. No one in the room.
He waved at the men to stay where they were, even though he knew they couldn’t see him. The other room across the hall had the door open.
He stepped that way silently and started to look around the doorjamb. A figure stepped outward, nearly colliding with him. Murdock brought the butt of the MP-5 submachine gun upward in a vicious butt stroke that connected with the man’s chin and rocked his head backward.
The man dropped the bullhorn, stumbled backward a step, and then fell to the floor, his neck broken. Murdock checked for a pulse at the carotid, then used the mike.
“DeWitt, troops. This thing is over. Holt, move outside through the back door and see if you can contact that chopper. He must be hanging around somewhere.”
“Mahanani, go turn on the lights,” Ed DeWitt ordered. “The hostages are all well. None was killed. Two have wounds from the assault and takeover. From what I hear, there were only about twenty soldiers here. We took out a lot of them, and the others ran for cover.”
“Everyone just hold in place except Holt until we get lights. Then we’ll move outside and find an LZ. SEALs, do we have any casualties?”
No one replied. “Alpha Squad, report in on hurts,” Murdock said. All checked in as not wounded. The same for Bravo Squad.
The lights blossomed, and everyone was blinded for a minute.
Murdock heard the people coming downstairs. He looked at the last man he had killed. He was a Colombian sergeant and had two grenades in his belt, but both had the safety pins still in them.
Ten minutes later, outside near the spot where the chopper would land, a red flare burned brightly. The ambassador and the rest of his people stood to one side, hugging each other. Some cried. Others looked back at the embassy that had been their home for years.
They heard the chopper coming in. The SEALs were in an extended perimeter defense, lying on the blacktop of the parking lot. They saw no movement around the once again blacked-out embassy.
The bird came in and landed, and Jaybird and Murdock ushered the civilians to the chopper door and helped them inside. Once they were all on board, the SEALs piled in the door and found floor space wherever they could.
The Sea Knight was on the ground a minute and twenty seconds, then the crew chief slammed the hatch and it lifted off.
Murdock went up front and used the bird’s radio. He raised the carrier and reported a success so far.
“Now all we have to do is get back to Camp Bravo, and we can call it a completed mission.”
Don Stroh tried to talk, but Murdock cut him off. “Sorry, Stroh, can’t talk right now, I have some people to take care of. See you soon.”
Murdock grinned. Damned if he was going to get another fucking mission before this one was even completed. Twice during the next hour, Murdock heard reports from the F-14s flying cover that they had blips on their radar. The bogies tended to come forward to within about thirty miles of the chopper and then headed back the other way.
They landed at Camp Bravo and said good-bye to the Tomcats that went back to the carrier.
The civilians were met by two State Department officials who took them into Cali by bus. The ambassador shook Murdock’s hand once more before he left.
The SEALs gathered up their gear and caught a ride back to their barracks. Murdock knew there was another job for them out there in Don Stroh’s little black book, but he’d be damned if he was going to talk about it before he had that steak dinner, a long, hot shower, and at least twelve hours of sleep.
Damn, but he was tired. He didn’t even think how long it had been since he’d seen a bunk. Just like hell week. Hoooooooyah!
20
Murdock and the rest of the SEALs slept in. Some put in twelve hours in the rack, some eight. Murdock came to the surface after ten and had a shower a big meal and was surprised to find that it was almost noon. He checked with Senior Chief Dobler.
“Weapons are all cleaned and oiled and equipment is repaired or replaced. Most of the men are up to regs and ready to go. Two are still snoring, but I’ll move them along. You heard anything from Don Stroh?”
“Haven’t given him a chance. Figure the men need a short break before we head out on another one of these small fires to put out.”
“Holt asked me if he should turn on the SATCOM. I told him to wait and ask you. Sure as hell, Stroh is going to be yelling at you.”
Murdock grinned. “I’m about to leave him off my next fishing trip.” He rubbed one hand over his face. “Hell, we might as well find out what the spook wants. It won’t be good. Where’s Holt?”
Five minutes later, Holt had the SATCOM zeroed in on the satellite. A minute after he turned it to receive, the set spoke.
“Roamer, this is Home Base. We need to talk. You awake yet over there?” There was a pause.
“Oh, yeah, Home Base,” Murdock said. “Awake. You sound rushed.”
“We’ve been handed a new assignment. You’re moving north to the Caribbean. The carrier Jefferson is floating around up there somewhere off Cartagena, a Colombian port town with a lot of shipping. We’ve got a COD warming up on deck. It will be at your location at 1300 to move you.”
“North? Shipping?”
“Right. I’ll be on the Greyhound so we can chat all the way up across the Pacific and a flyover of part of Panama. I think you’ll like this one.”
“Don Stroh, sir! You know we always love the assignments we get. We take all of our goodies?”
“Everything you took in with you. All your gear, ammo, and TNAZ.”
“Thirteen hundred. We’ll be ready.”
“Any more wounded?”
“We’re full strength again and raring to go.”
“See you then.”
They signed off. By then, half the platoon had gathered around the radio. “So, we’re moving. Senior Chief, roust up the rest of the men and we’ll have a quick talk.”
The Navy COD, officially a Greyhound C-2A, took off from the small field at Camp Bravo near Cali at 1310. The COD is a Navy acronym for carrier on board delivery plane. It can land and take off from the larger carriers and is routinely used to deliver VIP personnel, mail, and important equipment and goods needed in a rush by the Navy.
It was derived from the E-2C Hawkeye aircraft. It cruises at 300 mph, with a ceiling of 33,500 feet, and can haul thirty-nine troops or twelve hospital cases on litters. It has a range of 1,200 miles loaded, carries two pilots and a flight engineer, and is powered by two Allison turboprop engines.
Stroh talked to the men as soon as they loaded and before they took off.
“We’re going to the Carrier Jefferson somewhere in the Caribbean Sea north of Cartagena, Colombia. There you will get more specific details about your missions. Roughly, it’s a three-part assignment. You’ll go ashore in the harbor and destroy any way practical the four tons of powdered cocaine loaded on two freighters due to sail in two days.
“Then you will destroy a pair of warehouses where more than a thousand barrels of ethyl ether is being stockpiled by the Medellin drug cartel. I understand ether burns well and when vaporized is volatile and extremely explosive.
“After that, you will get some sort of transport to the small town of Plato, where the Medellin drug cartel has just built a new airfield for its drug trade. Planes come in from Bolivia and Peru bringing in coca paste. There are several processing plants in this area as well as more stockpiles of finished coke ready to be sent out to the States by plane. Planes, trucks, processing plants, and stockpiles will be your targets.