“Rest of us move forward,” Murdock said. “We take it easy. If we get to some bodies up there, we grab their MGs and tote them. Never can tell.”
They moved slowly, working up the hill through the darkness and the heavy growth for nearly fifty yards.
“Skip, I got Doc’s arm bandaged up. Bleeding stopped. He’s gung ho to keep coming with us. Your call.”
“His call. Be glad to have him. Both of you get your tails up here with the troops.”
Murdock stumbled over the first body a few minutes later. He put his back to the top of the hill and used his pencil flash. The Chinese trooper had shrapnel slashes on his head and torso. The twenty had nailed him.
They found five bodies. Two of them lay on weapons Murdock determined to be H & K 53’s, a German submachine gun that fired a rifle cartridge in the 5.56 size. A beautiful little weapon. It had a curved twenty-five-round magazine. Murdock grabbed two full mags from the corpse and slung the 53 over his shoulder.
“Hold here until Doc and Ostercamp get here,” Murdock said. “There are some good weapons here if you can find them H & K fifty-threes.”
Murdock checked ahead. More trees and brush. He could barely see the top of the mountain against the rising moon.
“What next?” Lam asked on the net. “Now they know we’re here with firepower.”
“Lam, take a scouting walk to the left. Franklin, do the same on the right. Go out seventy-five yards or so and see if you can hear any more outposts.”
Doc Mahanani and Ostercamp came up and the corpsman sat and leaned against a tree. Murdock knelt beside him.
“Hey, sawbones. Can you still pull a trigger?”
“Damn straight.”
“What day is this?”
“Don’t have the foggiest. I’m lucid. You kidding about a sub gun that shoots out a five-five-sixer?”
“No lie. You’re lucid. We take five and wait to see that no outposts close in on us on our flanks.”
Lam and Franklin both reported in that they’d neither found nor heard any outposts or Chinese activity.
“Come back, double time,” Murdock said. “Then we’re going to charge up this hill and overrun that outfit.”
Above them at the camp, the four men prisoners were in the same tent. The Chinese had said it was for better security, only one tent to guard.
Karl Tucker was the governor’s top money-raiser. He had the ideas and connections and could throw a thousand-dollar-a-plate dinner or a dog-on-a-stick picnic with equal panache. The governor knew his background, and had shown outward surprise at the way Tucker had acted when they were overwhelmed and captured. Two of the men had had to be knocked down and tied up. Tucker had dropped to the ground cowering when the armed Chinese ran toward him.
The governor had not spoken about it to Tucker. The man was brilliant. He must have something in mind.
Karl Tucker had been the smallest man in his company when he went through Marine Corps recruit training at San Diego. He stood no more than five-six with his boots on. His loose shirt concealed a muscular upper body that could power-lift more than three times his weight. He had excelled in hand-to-hand and other types of one-on-one combat exercises and training routines. He had applied to be in the Marine Recon Force, but had missed passing the physical due to his height.
This night, he decided, was the right time. He had heard the gunfire outside, and could pick out the distinctive sound of the 20mm rounds exploding. He had no idea who had a twenty weapon up here, but it was time to help.
He was chained to the tent wall posts, as were the other men. There was no way to slip off the chain. The men had been stripped of all the items in their pockets, but Karl had saved a hairpin. He’d hidden it in his own hair.
Now he took it out and worked quickly on the locks on the chain around his wrist. He had it opened in less than thirty seconds. Only the governor was awake. They tended to go to sleep when it grew dark. Their tent had no candle.
Governor Itashi heard Karl moving. “Tucker, you all right?”
“Fine, Governor. Just waiting to make my move. Going to kill me a few Chinese, then try to hook up with that outfit attacking them. Must be some Marines out there.”
“Be careful, Karl. We have big plans.”
“I know, Governor. Semper fi.”
It was the last sound Tucker made before he slipped out the tent’s loose door and paused in the shadows checking out the area. He had tried to remember it from the first day. Six tents. No buildings. Where would the interior guards be? He waited. A shadow moved to his left, thirty feet away. For just a second a match flared, and Karl grinned. A sentry smoking. That was suicide. He moved that way. The guard would have no night vision after the flare of the match for at least a minute.
Karl hurried toward the sentry. Caught the smell of tobacco, then saw the glow of the cigarette. He moved up from the side, waiting until the man looked the other way.
When he turned, Karl hurtled at the sentry on silent feet, hit him with a shoulder block on the left side, and drove him off his feet to the ground. The sentry made only one gurgled sound before Karl’s hands closed around his throat and cut off all sound and air. It took the man two minutes to die. Karl had felt a body go limp and dead before. He eased away, took the sentry’s knife and his short, deadly weapon. Some sort of submachine gun. Good. He found three full magazines on the man, but nothing else of value. He looked at the end tent. It would be the most obvious for the Chinese officer to use. Then a squad of eight men jogged toward him. Karl went flat on the ground next to the tree and held his breath.
The squad jogged on past in step and vanished into the night to the west. He heard three more shots from the west. That must be where the attack was taking place. He looked at the end tent. At least two candles burned inside. With the action outside, it was for sure that the lieutenant wouldn’t still be in his tent. There must be more guards around this area.
He broke the camp into sections that he could see and examined one square at a time. In the fifth unit at the east end of the camp, he saw another guard. The man stood against a tree, his weapon hung by a strap from his neck. His hands were at his sides. He could be staring in all directions, or he could be sleeping. Karl moved through deep shadows toward him. The last ten yards were across a moonlight-bathed flat space.
Karl hesitated just inside the darkness. Was he trying to live forever? Come on, semper fi. He made sure he had the safety off and pointing down for full-automatic on the German-made submachine gun. There was a round in the chamber. He put his finger on the trigger and began a moderate walk toward the guard.
At once the sentry came alert. He began to lift his weapon slowly and shouted something in Chinese. Karl brought up the sub gun and chattered off six rounds from his hip. He saw the guard’s body jolt backward, then turn slowly to the right and dive into the dirt. The guard’s finger closed on the trigger in a death spasm and sprayed twenty rounds into the trees.
Karl sprinted for the heavy timber and brush on the far side of the camp. It was the side where he had heard the firing. There must be some good guys down there. A dozen rounds whispered through the air to one side of him. Then he was safely into the brush.
More firing came from the right, to the west. He heard the sound he figured had to be exploding 20mm rounds. How in hell did they get a 20mm cannon up here? He began moving toward the sounds, again a Marine on dangerous duty, knowing that if he made the wrong move, both sides would try to blow his head off.
The sounds of firing from below the top and the camp came again, and he altered his direction and hurried. He wanted to get there before the fun was all over.