It was a monotonous task. They probed with the knife every three inches in a line three feet wide, then moved up three inches and probed back the way they had come. After clearing a three-by-three-foot section, they moved to the side and did another section. It was slow, agonizing work, and any second one bad probe or one with too much force could set off a mine.
Master Chief Dobler came to where Murdock worked his KA-BAR in and out of the sand.
“We have the surf and the outside wet sand cleared,” Dobler said. “Not as certain as you’re doing it here, but there are no obvious problems to a smooth landing.”
“We still need to check the dry sand. How much here, about thirty yards?”
“Somewhere near. A lot of space to cover.”
“Tell Lam to use his KA-BAR and clear a path through the sand up to that fringe of woods. Then have him check it out and in to the point where he finds any humans, civilians or otherwise.”
“Aye, sir.” Dobler moved away through the water to find Lam, their platoon scout.
“How much we going to do on this, Skipper?” Jaybird asked.
“You know how far three hundred yards are, sailor?”
“Too fucking far. What if this is the only one? What if it was dropped by mistake on some kind of an exercise by the original home boys here?”
“What if we miss one and it blows up six Marines coming across this wet sand?” Murdock stood, waved up the rest of the platoon, and told them the routine. “Every three inches in a three-foot square. Line up and let’s get at it. We ain’t got all night.”
Lam edged his way up the soft and dry sand, probing two feet wide and moving faster than he should. He made it across the twenty yards to the dry grass and some salt brush. Lam stopped and listened. He couldn’t hear the SEALs behind him because of the pounding breakers. He watched ahead. No lights. Small brush, and some trees, but he didn’t know what kind. The whole island looked low and flat. He moved into the brush carefully, watching, taking in everything he could see in the half-light.
Nothing.
Nobody.
He went another fifty yards. Still nothing. If they wanted to defend this place, they were going about it in a crazy way. Maybe they had no idea they would be invaded. He hoped so. An all-out war with ten thousand troops was not his idea of fun. Especially since they only had seven hundred Marines backing them up.
A half mile inland, he found the first habitation. It looked like some kind of vegetable farm. A small house, a hint of a valley, with a tiny stream and row upon row of some kind of green crop. Enough. He turned and headed for the beach.
On the way, he neither saw nor heard anyone.
A walk in the park.
He was almost to the beach when a jolting explosion drilled the sky with an arc of light, then the rolling thunder of the mine washed over him along with a wave of hot air. He ran to the edge of the dry sand.
The SEALs had scattered, most of them back into the foaming foot-deep seawater. Lam had no idea where the safe trail was that he had carved coming into the woods. He sat down and waited.
Murdock heard the blast and swore as he left his section. It was to his right. He ran through the foot-deep water to where he saw the small cloud of smoke slowly rising. Two men lay on the wet sand. Mahanani crawled up to the first man. Murdock went to his knees beside him. It was Ron Holt.
“I’m not hit bad, Skip, just knocked me out. Got some nicks and scrapes, damn shrapnel. It’s Al Adams over there who caught most of it.”
They moved cautiously in the water to where Adams lay. His right arm was torn off. Blood gouted. Mahanani pulled off his shirt and held it tightly around the bloody arm stump halfway to the shoulder.
“He’s bleeding, so he isn’t dead,” the medic said.
Murdock checked his face and chest. Blood soaked his cammie shirt. His face was not marked.
“Lam,” Murdock said in his Motorola. “You back?”
“Back, Skipper. Nobody up here for almost a klick.”
“Work a safe path for us through the dry sand. Be damn careful. Adams got it bad, we need a place to keep him off the beach.”
“Doing it. Work better if Dobler could work from the wet to meet me.”
“I’m on it, Skipper,” Dobler said on the radio.
“Can we save him?” Murdock asked the Hawaiian.
“I don’t know. Shock, blood loss. Haven’t even looked at his chest yet. Be good to get a chopper in here for him. Can we contact the big boat?”
“Didn’t bring the SATCOM. Pegasus can call them. They must have heard the blast if they hung around. He touched the mike. “Beach calling Pegasus. Do you copy?”
There was no response. He made the call three times. Then he heard a faint reply.
“Beach, on our way home. Need help?”
“Triggered a mine. Got two of our men, one critical. I know we can’t get a chopper in here until the attack. That’s still two hours off. Can you pick up our wounded?”
“Check with mother hen. Give me a minute.”
Everyone heard the conversation. Adams tried to say something, then drifted off into unconsciousness again.
“Get his feet up. He’s in shock. More blood to his brain the better.”
“Beach, we have a go for ambulance run. Mother is within five miles. They hit here first, then go to Beach B. Coming in. Any enemy fire?”
“None we’ve found so far. Just the damn mine. We found one more but have it out. Gentle slope of the beach here, not sure how close you can come. What do you draw?”
“Not sure. We can nose in to ground, then get off easy.”
“You have a medic on board?”
“Negative. We’re about two miles out and moving in fast. You may be able to hear us. Give me a glow stick to find you. You’re where we left you before?”
“That’s a roger to both.”
“Jaybird, take a green stick, wade out, shield it with your body from the island, and give Pegasus a target.”
“On my way, Skip.”
Murdock checked out Ron Holt. He had two deep gashes in one leg, an arm wound, and, after repeated probing, admitted that he couldn’t see very well.
“The damn flash,” Holt said. “Twice as bad as a flashbang.”
“Can you walk, Holt?”
“Yeah, but I won’t know where I’m going.”
“You’re with me. He hit the radio again. Ronson, Bradford, get over here and help us get Adams down to the boat. It should be here in a few minutes.”
Murdock led Holt into the water and out beside Jaybird. They heard the Pegasus coming, then it toned down as it slowed. It had no lights, only a murmur now as it idled in the last quarter mile.
Two minutes later, the long craft nosed in three feet from Jaybird until its bow scraped sand. It stopped. The water was chest deep when they walked out to the boat. They lifted Holt on board, and Murdock told them he couldn’t see.
Adams was tougher. Ronson and Bradford carried him like a silk pillow, but the men on board the Pegasus had trouble getting him into the ship.
“Mahanani, get in there and help. You’re going back with them. Check over Holt for blood loss. Have one of the crew try to stop the bleeding with pressure on that stump. A wet towel might help. Go.”
The Pegasus eased backward, away from the beach, turned, and crawled away on low throttle. They heard it rev up farther out to sea.
Murdock looked at his watch. Nearly 0400.
“Jaybird, get that mine. We’ll take it with us. Lam, you know where that safe route is?”
The earpiece came on. “I’ve got one end, Senior Chief Dobler has your end. Bring the troops into the cover. Nobody up here yet, but I’d guess we’ll have some company before the Marines land.”
Murdock’s radio talked again. “On our way, Skip. Holt is doing well, chest wounds superficial. Lots of blood, not much hurt. He still can’t see. Adams is looking bad. We brought the rest of his arm along and the crew has it in a bucket of ice. You know what they can do with severed limbs these days. Almost out of range. Good luck.”