“Against what?” Murdock asked. “They didn’t give us a total we should get to. They don’t know how many units are here of shells or missiles. We might count the Scuds if we see them.”
They found no one in the next building. Murdock sent Senior Chief Dobler with Bravo Squad to clear the frame building across the narrow street. He and Alpha took the one just ahead.
As soon as they stepped into the structure, Murdock knew it was different. There was a strange feel. He saw no people, only large vats and pipes and series of low worktables with tubing to each one. The whole place seemed to be a death trap.
They started through the building when a single Arab with a full beard stepped out from behind some large, wooden boxes and yelled at them in Arabic. The man held a two-foot-long canister about six inches in diameter.
He shrieked again in Arabic. They were close enough that they could see the wild look in his eyes. His movements were quick and jerky. He motioned to them with one hand and to the canister with the other.
“Franklin, get over here to the other building,” Murdock talked in his lip mike. “We need your Arabic. On the double.”
Murdock watched the Iraqi. He was screaming, crying, pointing at them, then at the container.
“Could be some of the nerve gas in there,” Holt said where he stood near Murdock.
“Yeah, but what does he want? Why is he crying and screaming?”
“I’d say he’s scared shitless about now. He wearing a uniform?”
Murdock looked closer. The man had on a military blouse with bars of some sort on the shoulders. His pants were civilian. He had no hat or weapon. Just the deadly looking canister.
Murdock laid his MP-5 submachine gun on the floor and looked at the man.
“See, I put down my weapon. We don’t want to hurt you. What’s in the container?”
The man frowned, wiped his eyes, then stared hard at Murdock. He jabbered again in Arabic. Calmer this time. He seemed to be getting control of himself more now. Murdock knew he had to keep talking to the man.
“We’re not sure what you want. We’re here to help you. To get you out of this desert of death.”
The Arab slumped to the floor, but held the canister tightly. He wiped his eyes again, motioned Murdock and the others back. He put the cylinder on the floor in front of him and took out a small-caliber handgun and aimed at the silver container.
“No,” Murdock bellowed. The Arab looked up. He shrugged.
Murdock heard movement behind him, and Franklin stepped in beside him.
“Talk to him, Franklin. That could be nerve gas in there.”
Franklin spoke softly in Arabic. The bearded man looked up, surprised, then curious. Murdock had no idea what Franklin said. He and the Arab spoke back and forth for several minutes. Then the Arab man shook his head. He picked up the container, stood, and placed the muzzle of the pistol against it.
“Skip, the man says he’s been cheated, deceived, lied to, and he’s terrified. He just wants to end it all right here and right now. I don’t know how to talk him out of it.”
Murdock watched the man. He was serious.
“Skip, he says he’ll shoot the canister open and we’ll all die in seconds. If we shoot him, he’ll drop the container and it will split open and we’ll still all die.”
Murdock watched in deadly fascination as he saw the Iraqi’s finger tighten on the trigger.
28
Murdock watched the Iraqi soldier’s finger tighten on the pistol’s trigger. He would kill them all.
“Jaybird, do him,” Murdock whispered.
The crack of the single shot from the MP-5 subgun sounded louder than normal in the closed building. The round smashed into the Arab’s forehead, driving him backward.
At the moment of the shot, Lam surged forward from where he stood beside Murdock. He took three running steps, then dove toward the falling Arab, his hands extended outward like a wide receiver reaching for the football for a winning touchdown.
His hands touched the container as the dead Arab dropped it. It slid off his stretching right hand but deflected just enough to land on the Arab’s chest where he fell on the concrete floor on his back. Lam twisted around, lunged forward from his knees, and grabbed the canister before it rolled off onto the hard floor.
There wasn’t a sound in the building for several moments. Then held-in breaths came free and the SEALs began laughing and talking and wiping sweat off their foreheads.
Murdock moved beside Lam and took the container from him. He put it down gently on a worktable.
“Good work, guys. That could have been one hell of a long leave for all of us. Let’s see what else we have in this one.”
They checked the rest of the building but found nothing more.
Murdock used the Motorola. “Dobler, find anything?”
His earpiece responded at once. “Two civilians and one soldier who surrendered rather than fight. Sent them all to the administration building out front. Your excitement over?”
“All clear here. It was close. Let’s move to the last two buildings in this row.”
The SEALs checked outside, then ran to the next wooden structure. It had doors that looked sealed. A bar lock and lever had to be moved, then one side of the heavy door swung open. Inside, the SEALs stared in surprise. The place was filled with what they figured were Scud missiles. They were larger than they had expected.
They counted forty of them, each on a dolly that could be hooked up and rolled away to a waiting truck. Each of the missiles had red painted circles around the warhead.
Lam came up to Murdock after they counted. “Some of these could be Al-Hussein missiles. I’ve heard that they are about the same size as the Scuds, but I couldn’t tell the differences.”
“We’ll give them a count and let the brass figure it out,” Murdock said. There were no guards or civilians in the building. They came out, and Murdock used the radio.
“Report, Dobler.”
“A batch of smaller missiles and more artillery shells, all with the red ring around the warhead or a red tip.”
“Let’s move on to the other row. Must be more people around here somewhere.”
The platoon moved half a block to another street with six buildings on it. Just as they came around the corner of the first building, they found the people they had been looking for.
Fifty yards down the street, a machine gun opened fire. The SEALs darted back behind the building or took cover behind a low wall. Six-round bursts kept the SEALs’ heads down.
Lam wormed to the edge of the frame building and looked around. “Skip, it’s an MG with sandbags around it. Good protection. We’ll have to flank him or use forty mikes.”
Murdock waved at Dobler, who slid into the sand beside where Murdock kneeled.
“Take your squad down past two buildings and see if you can flank that machine gun. We’ll throw in some forty mikes.”
By the time he said it, four of the men with grenade launchers had positioned themselves out of the line of fire but so they could send the grenades at the machine gun. The first two rounds fell short but silenced the gun as the soldiers evidently dove for cover. Another forty mike hit just beyond the gun, then one at the side.
Senior Chief Dobler ran his squad down the street and around the second building, then slipped up behind cover so they could see the machine gun. A grenade burst beyond the gun, and the two men manning it dove behind the sandbags.
When they came up, four SEALs fired at them. The two machine gunners turned in surprise, then fell, slumped over the weapon they had been ready to fire. Both were dead in an instant.
“The MG is clear, Skipper. The MG is clear, and I don’t see any other troops.”