22
Murdock stopped his SEALs fifty yards from what looked like the top of the mountain. In the darkness he could only estimate, but the distance felt right. Ed DeWitt came over and they worried it.
“We can’t use the twenties anymore up here,” DeWitt said. “We don’t know where the hostages are. That damn shrapnel explodes out fifty to seventy-five yards on an airburst. That would go through a tent like leaves on a tree. Can’t take the chance.”
The fire from above had been murderous. They had machine guns overlapping, and could send down a killing barrage anytime they saw a target. Murdock had only one other casualty, that a heel shot off Ostercamp’s boot.
“So how do we get up the damn hill?” Murdock asked.
“Wait until morning and establish our absolute limits on the use of the twenties. We might be able to use them on the machine guns after all.”
“Long night ahead. Let’s do some recon and try to pin down where the tents are.” Murdock waved at his JG. “Have Lam go take a gander. I’m going to check in with CINCPAC and see what else is going on.”
DeWitt moved out to find Lam. Murdock used the Motorola to call up Ron Holt. They had to move to a new location where Holt could get a clear shot at the satellite. When the set beeped that the dish antenna was aligned properly, Holt gave the handset to Murdock.
“CINCPAC, this is Red Hill.”
The speaker came on at once. Holt lunged forward to turn down the volume. “Yes, Red Hill. We read you.”
“Have found the camp. Made contact with the hostage-takers, but have not located the tents and hostages yet. On hold until daylight and we can better assess.”
“Thought you guys could do anything.”
“Not against interlocked machine guns, sir.”
“The other war fronts are winding down. Most of the little men are on the run, captured, or dead. We’ve been talking with a Lieutenant Hing about the captives. He knows we won’t negotiate. He could be getting nervous and dangerous.”
“He’s already dangerous. Will report in tomorrow or with any new move here.”
“That’s a Roger, Red Hill. Out.”
Murdock sat back and looked at the set. “Not one hell of a lot of help,” he said to Holt.
“For damn sure, Skipper. We stuck here for a while?”
“Unless Lam can get us a hundred yards of separation between those machine guns and the tents.” He used the Motorola. “Two on guard for each squad. The rest of you get some shut-eye. It could be a long night.”
Karl Tucker bored into the rain forest — like growth and stopped after fifteen yards. He listened, looking behind, but no one chased him. There should be another guard down this way. He crept soundlessly back to the edge of the clearing and sectioned the area. Then he did his search again. One more guard, then he’d find the guys out there who were on his side.
He had to work harder to find the third guard. For ten minutes he searched the sectors. Karl was about to give up when he saw movement in a tree. Yes. This soldier wasn’t smoking. He seemed to be alert. He sat in the low crotch of a tree. He was only six feet off the ground but had good sight lines.
The old Marine training took over and Karl worked through the brush to a spot where he had some good cover to move forward. The sentry had picked a spot at the very edge of the woods. This gave him an excellent view of his area, but also put him in more danger from the cover behind him.
After twenty minutes, Karl had worked his way soundlessly along the edge of the brushy woods to a spot fifteen feet from the Chinese sentry.
A sitting duck.
Karl knew he should simply shoot the guard and move on to find the Marines. There was no reason for stealth. Not after his shootout with the other guard. Karl grinned. He hadn’t had a chance to play Marine for five years. The old urges were still there. He lifted the knife, an eight-inch blade with a well-balanced handle. He held the knife in one hand and crawled on hands and knees toward the sentry.
Karl froze as the Chinese soldier looked his way. He stared at the shadowed spot where Karl lay. Then his gaze moved on, covering his post and his assigned area. He was doing a good job, which made Karl’s approach harder.
Karl surged forward ten feet when the guard looked the other way. Then he came up charging, the sub gun in his left hand, the knife in his right. He was six feet away from the sentry. The man turned back and saw Karl coming, but by then it was too late. The heavy knife drove into the Chinese man’s chest and slammed him backward. Karl dove forward with the blade and landed hard on top of the sentry.
Karl kept up the pressure on the steel until the soldier gave one long sigh and his bowels discharged. Karl searched the dead guard quickly, took three filled magazines for the sub gun and pushed them inside his shirt, then slipped back into the brush and moved to his left, where he had heard the gunfire. Now all he had to do was find the Marines without getting his head blown off. He grinned. These were Marines. He’d have to be damn careful so he didn’t get his hide full of 20mm cannon shrapnel. Karl grinned and began jogging forward.
Murdock took the patrol to the left. There had to be a better way to get up to the mesa than this slope. He worked beyond the fields of fire of the two machine guns, and found what he was afraid he would: another sheer cliff rising over a hundred feet almost straight up. None of his people were skilled at hard-rock climbing. That was why Hing had put his machine guns on the slope.
Murdock came back to his small HQ and looked at DeWitt.
“Nothing new, Skipper. No word from CINCPAC. A few rounds from the MG now and then to remind us they’re still there.”
“Lam back yet?”
DeWitt shook his head.
“If we don’t have enough separation, we’re in deep shit here, men.” Murdock said. “No way we can go through those MGs. They could wipe us out with random fire and never know it.”
“We’ve got to have enough space between them and the tents or we are in deep trouble,” DeWitt said.
The machine guns cut in again, each weapon sending six bursts of six rounds across its field of fire. The SEALs jammed behind the largest trees available.
“I hate those fucking machine guns,” Train Khai barked.
“Yeah, unless it’s us who are firing them,” Bradford countered.
The firing stopped. No SEALs returned any rounds.
“They won’t know if we’re still here or not this way,” Murdock said. “Where in the hell is Lampedusa?”
“Right behind you, dead man,” Lam said, stepping into the small cleared place from the brush. No one had heard him coming.
“So?”
“The MG on the left is plenty far from the tents, but I’m not positive about the one on the right. Too close to be safe.”
Six of the SEALs had gathered around.
“We use the airbursts on the left one and contact detonation on the right one,” Ching said. “The AP rounds should burrow through any sandbags they have and go off inside their little bunker.”
“Sounds like a go to me,” Bradford said. The others looked at Murdock.
“How about the forties?” Jefferson asked. “We can lay back two hundred yards and lob in a dozen or so, get ground bursts and not push out shrapnel more than thirty, forty yards.”
“Small target,” Canzoneri said. “We’d waste eighty percent of our rounds and might not get a direct hit.”
“Let’s go with the twenties,” Murdock said. “Lam on the airbursts to the left. Get your laser on the muzzle flash, then on your own airbursts. Canzoneri with your twenty on Contact Detonation on the right-hand sucker. Disperse, find cover you can shoot around, and wait for the next machine-gun rounds. Six or eight rounds each should do the job.”