“Bushmaster six, this is Bravo six, over.”
The voice was crisp with authority and impa-tience … and familiar.
“This is Bushmaster six,” Ramsey blurted, anxious. “Listen, we know each other. You are the unit that came here for ammo detail. You don’t have to answer, but you know who I am, classmate. We are on another island and are supposed to have helicopters pick us up in about twenty minutes. But we lost contact with everybody because of a radio glitch and now we can’t seem to get anybody but you. I have some important information. Prepare to copy, over,” Ramsey said, rapidly.
“This is Bravo six. You’re right about who we are. I know the voice, but give me a minute. Anyway, you’re not going to get anybody else on the radio. The Abu Sayyaf launched a major attack today. I’ve already had my XO and another soldier killed in action. The Abu Sayyaf took the embassy, and they looked like they had the Presidential Palace when we flew over it. We’re stranded ourselves. I’ve got some embassy pukes and a colonel in my base camp. We’ve called back to our headquarters. They’re working on the situation. Plus, I doubt you’ll get any helicopters. The enemy is everywhere. Send your message, over,” said Captain Garrett, trying to narrow down his list of West Point classmates who might be leading troops in the Philippines.
Simply put, he had been shocked by the loss of Rockingham and had no time for any bullshit. He wanted to kill every last insurgent son of a bitch. He had his men put camouflage paint on their faces and hands, and told them that they were leaving Garrett’s Gulch to move into the jungles above Subic. He had read about the Marines in Beirut, and his position was very similar. Low ground, surrounded by high ground on three sides. Too vulnerable. Something inside of him took over, something dark and dangerous. He would not rest until the loss of his soldiers had been avenged.
Ramsey leaned back on the heels of his green and black jungle boots and tried to comprehend what his classmate had just told him. Two dead. That makes three American soldiers killed in the Philippines in the past week. What the hell is going on? The war is in the Middle East, Afghanistan and probably soon to be Iraq. No helicopters. He momentarily forgot his message and asked, “Do you have any trans-portation?”
“Roger. We’ve got one Black Hawk with a quarter tank of fuel. I doubt he can reach you, over.”
“I know he can’t. Can you get fuel from anywhere?” Ramsey knew the Black Hawk to have a range of over 950 kilometers. Their position was roughly 725 kilometers from Subic Bay. The helicopter could pick them up, but not make it all the way back without refueling somewhere.
“We’ll try. What’s your location?”
“Mindanao. We’re near a place called Cateel City. If he can just fly above the shore north of Cateel City, we’ll guide him to our location.”
“I’ll talk to the pilot and see what he says. Christ, what are you doing in Mindanao?” Zachary asked.
“Zach, this is Chuck,” Ramsey said, hesitating before he played the card and violated operational security over the radio.
The first bullet hit Jones in the right shoulder, knocking him back against a tall pine. The second pierced his neck, spraying red blood onto the bark. He stood for a second, wide-eyed, then said in his Boston accent, “Bastards.” His back sliding down the tree, he died.
Ramsey saw Jones get hit before he heard the gunshot. Soon his team was returning fire. They had been surprised, totally. The enemy fire was coming from across the ravine. Ramsey’s battle-hardened mind went into gear immediately. At least they have to cross the river to maneuver against me. That may save us.
Then he remembered. The message. I’ve got to get the message to Bravo six — Zachary Garrett. He knew he was carrying the glass slipper. These rebels would not have been hot on his trail if the Japanese man had not been right about what he had said.
A bullet blew the bark off the tree next to his head, spraying chips of wood into his eyes. Temporarily blinded, he crouched low and made the decision that he had to be alive to send the message, and he needed radio equipment as well. He picked up the radio and antenna, and moved behind a tree. The enemy was obviously trying to knock out his communications equipment as the concentration of fire seemed greatest near him. But then again, it always seemed that way in a firefight. He grabbed his ruck and stuffed the radio and antenna inside. He had eaten all of his chow and had plenty of room for the comms equipment. Another bullet stuck in the wood next to his ear. They seemed to be everywhere.
He could see Benson and Eddie returning fire with vigor. Abe lay frozen next to him. The other men had coalesced into groups that could conduct independent fire and maneuver.
He grabbed Abe, laid him next to his rucksack, and told him not to move. The volume of fire was unlike any he had ever heard before. Grabbing his M4, he moved north and linked up with Sid Bullings. They moved along the ravine, out of the hail of bullets. He could see enemy soldiers across the river, looking as if they were going to cross at any moment. It would be a long process on their part, getting down the steep bank and back up the far side. Looking back at his men, conducting fire and maneuver, he saw Benson and Lonnie White running down the line, doing something he could not quite identify.
He flipped his M4 selector switch to semi-automatic. He had eight thirty-round magazines. Bullings was his security man. He looked through his telescopic sight and could see his weapon’s noise suppressor with his open left eye. They took cover behind a rock, and Ramsey began to fire single shots that left the muzzle of his weapon silently and violently struck their targets.
He watched as a subsonic round struck an unsuspecting enemy, tumbling through his body like a bowling pin, ripping his insides to shreds. The lower-than-usual velocity gave the round a chance for more destruction once it struck its target. He picked another target, then a third.
Suddenly, the enemy rose en masse. There were more than two hundred. At least there had been. His team was holding them off momentarily. But they stood, like some confederate charge in the American Civil War, screaming and climbing down the near side of the ravine. Hand over hand, they scaled down the rocks and would have to do the same coming up the other side.
Ramsey continued to fire, killing every man he shot.
He looked along the ravine. The enemy fell into the increasingly red waters below. Benson had ignited a series of claymore mines, killing at least sixty who had tried to enter the ravine. Ramsey saw a man with an Australian bush hat running up and down the line, screaming loudly. He laid the sight on his head, but the man kept moving through the elephant grass, never presenting a stationary target. He fired.
Missed.
Chapter 46
Talbosa turned and looked, but did not see who had shot at him, feeling only the jet wash of the errant shot and listening as the bullet whacked its way through the jungle canopy. He was now certain that it was either Australians or Americans his men were fighting. He hoped they were Americans. We will be like Vietnam, Talbosa thought. We will have started a war with the Americans and will destroy the most powerful country in the world!
But he was trying to get the confusion under control. He had ordered his men to open fire once they made contact. His point man had misunder-stood the directive and fired when he saw the enemy across the ravine. Talbosa would have preferred to circle around and come at them from the north, driving them into the ravine to their deaths.
He had issued instructions to kill the Japanese man as well. Takishi had told him that Abe might inform the world that the Japanese were making weapons for Abu Sayyaf’s use, and that would effectively cut off their supply. He could not have that. Running through the elephant grass, avoiding bullets that whizzed around him, he began to get control of his men. He pulled them back, having them cease fire, or at least cover their retreat. They would stop and move into Cateel City, then move north of the river, swinging wide, and slam into the enemy.