Counterfire sts-16

by Keith Douglass

  “SEALs, time to come home. Where the hell are you two?”

  “Hiding,” the whisper said in Murdock’s earpiece.

  “Yeah, I hear you, take it easy. Lots of rebels around you? Click once for yes.” One click came. Murdock waited. He had no idea which direction to go. Then the earpiece spoke to him.

  “Van Dyke. Bastards all around me. Most of them from that company you shot to hell. They’re mad. Cheered like wild when the bird blew up.”

  “They pulled back a little?”

  “Yeah, some.”

  “You seen Lam?”

  “He was nearby. I think he got hit. We come off the line to backside these fuckers. Should have told you.”

  “Can you find Lam?”

  “Yeah. I think so. I got a scratch, but it’s nothing. The bad guys have pulled back to reorganize. I figure they knew the shit was coming in here tonight. Heard one truck back there somewhere.”

  “Could be the government trucks. I see two coming in now. They have some troops with them. We’ll try to hook up with them and get out of here.”

  “Birds all left?”

  “Right, too dangerous to stay any longer. RPGs would kill them from this woods-to-plane range. Look for Lam.”

  Murdock watched the two trucks move up to the stack of boxes of rifles, machine guns, and ammo at the site near the first VTOL, which was still burning. They pulled the ammo out first so it wouldn’t explode. He wanted to run that way and bring back some help, but he didn’t know the language. Strike that. English was the official language here in Sierra Leone. But he knew they would shoot first and talk later.

  “Got him,” Van Dyke said.

  “How bad?”

  “Not good. Looks like one in the arm and another one in his leg, up high. He’s almost out of it.”

  “Where are you from the burning chopper?”

  “Yeah, see it. To the east, maybe twenty yards in the brush. About opposite that second stack of ammo on this side.”

  “I’m moving up that direction. Don’t the fuck shoot me.”

  Murdock moved slowly and silently. He had this routine down to an exact science. Never put your foot down until you were sure it wouldn’t break something and make noise. He found the two SEALs about five minutes later.

  Van Dyke had bandaged Lam’s upper right arm and his lower leg. The in-and-out on his leg was no problem.

  “I can walk, I can walk,” Lam kept saying.

  “The shoulder isn’t so good,” Van Dyke said. “I think it’s a ricochet and it’s still in there.”

  “So what?” Lam asked. “Let’s move. The last chopper ready?”

  Murdock checked the two bandages. They would stop the bleeding even when Lam walked.

  “We move quietly around to the side where the trucks are coming in. I’ll try to talk to one of the Sierra Leone soldiers without getting my head blown off.”

  “Where are the choppers, that new funny VTOL one?” Lam asked.

  “They had to leave, too much danger,” Murdock said. “We’re on our own for a while.”

  “My fucking fault,” Lam said. “I got hit and couldn’t move there for a time. Why didn’t you use the radio?”

  Murdock stopped and looked closely at Lam. His earpiece hung down his back on the thin wire. Murdock pushed it back in place, and they glided slowly through the thick growth toward the road where the trucks were coming in. So far Murdock had seen three come, load up, and leave. The workers who unloaded the planes were gone. He saw no one. Each truck must bring its own work force. He stopped opposite the fourth stack of ammo and weapons. The truck would come to them.

  They sat down to wait in the fringe of woods. Murdock looked at Van Dyke. “You said you picked up a scratch?”

  “Oh, nothing to worry about. Place on my arm. I think it was some shrapnel from one of our own twenties. So no Purple Heart.”

  Murdock pushed back Van Dyke’s jungle-camouflaged shirtsleeve and checked it. A jagged line two inches long oozed with a line of blood that ran down his arm and dripped off his fingers. Murdock used his first-aid kit and put some ointment on the gash, then wrapped it tightly to stop the bleeding.

  “Some damn scratch,” he said. Van Dyke grinned.

  A truck came five minutes later, ground to a halt, and left its lights on aimed at the stack of weapons and ammo. Four men got out of the truck and began taking the goods to the truck. Murdock watched the loading. He could come up on this side of the rig without being seen.

  “Stay,” he said, and brought his Bull Pup to port arms and slid across the twenty yards to the side of the old van-type truck without a sound. He paused at the near side, then crept around the front until he could see the men working. One soldier stood to the side evidently directing things. English, they spoke English.

  He tried the direct approach without showing himself.

  “Lieutenant, I need to talk to you,” Murdock said loud enough so the man could hear him, but not the workers. The soldier turned sharply, a submachine gun coming up.

  “What the hell. Who is there?”

  “A friend. I just helped bring in this stack of guns and ammo. I’m a United States Navy SEAL and I need your help.”

  “You could be a rebel.”

  “If I were, you’d be dead by now, right?”

  The man twisted his face into a frown, then nodded. “Yeah, guess so. I saw the strange planes leave. How do they do that?”

  “Vertical takeoffs and landings. After takeoff, the whole engine turns until it’s level with the wing and the plane flies forward like any plane.”

  “Yeah. Okay, come out, but keep your hands up.”

  Murdock did as he stepped out and moved forward.

  “Stop, close enough. You say you’re with the U.S. Navy?”

  “Right, the SEALs. We’re specialists in covert projects like this.”

  “So, the U.S. brought in these weapons?”

  “Yes, but nobody is supposed to know about it.”

  “Yeah, but I know about it.” His sub gun came up and centered on Murdock’s chest from six feet away.

  “We’re on your side, the government’s side,” Murdock said.

  The man with the submachine gun laughed. “You don’t say, brother. Got news for you. We’re not on your side. Knew right away that you weren’t a rebel. Guess why. ’Cause we’re the rebels, and we thank you for the fine weapons and ammunition.” He laughed again, and Murdock saw no chance to get to him or to use the Pup.

  “Stand steady, SEAL. Since you’re a warrior, I’ll give you a choice. You want me to kill you quick, or slow? One in the head or two in the belly, so you can moan and scream and go out of your mind with pain? Which one, American Navy SEAL, which one?”

  2

  Murdock’s mind blasted into hyperspeed selecting and evaluating every move he could make, anything he could do to reverse the situation. Every move and method he thought of came up negative. He was facing death down the barrel of a submachine gun and there wasn’t a thing he could do. Dive left and bring up the Pup. Not a chance he could beat an aimed weapon. Throw the weapon at the rebel? Wouldn’t work, bullets fly faster than a hurled rifle. He stared hard at the smirking rebel.

  “Kill me and get promoted to colonel in your ragtag outfit, is that what you want?”

  “Better than being a captain. You trying to talk me to death? Won’t work, United States SEAL. I should keep you so we can prove to the world that your country is against us. Might do some good. No, not a chance. Bring me much more pleasure to cut you in half with about twenty rounds.” His white teeth gleamed in the moonlight as he grinned.

  “Oh, yeah,” he continued, “and I think the time is about now.”

  Murdock heard the horrendous sound of a weapon firing, but he didn’t feel the bullets slam into his body. Then the rebel in front of him grew a splash of blood on his forehead as his body began to jolt backward, his finger still on the trigger of the submachine gun. Murdock dove sideways and rolled as the sub g
un fired from a spasming trigger finger as the rebel died. The weapon in the man’s hands lifted as he fell until it pointed skyward, and ripped off another dozen rounds before the man hit the ground.

  Murdock rolled once more, came to his feet, and without a glance at the men loading the truck, charged back into the brush twenty yards away. Now he heard the rifle fire coming from the woods he had left. Van Dyke, he decided. The kid would get a gold star. He crashed through some brush and went flat on the leaf-mold-covered ground, his Bull Pup cradled in his arms.

  “Van Dyke, where are you guys?”

  “About ten yards north. Figured you might need a hand out there. I take it they weren’t friendly.”

  “They are the rebels. Somehow they got the upper hand here. Suggest we put some twenties into the truck and those stacks of weapons and ammo that are left. Fire when ready.”

  Murdock crawled to the edge of the woods and sent his first shot into the truck engine. It erupted, blowing off the hood and sending parts of the engine over half the clearing. Another twenty hit the rear of the truck setting off some sympathetic explosions, and a minute later the whole rig was one mass of flames and detonations.

  Murdock moved his sights to the stack of ammo and weapons still in front of the truck where its headlights had been shining. He found the black mass and triggered a round. The 20mm HE round detonated on a stack of ammo boxes and blasted them into kindling. Another round from Van Dyke shattered boxes containing the small arms, and set off a packet of plastic explosive that splattered the rest of the weapons and cartridges over half the world.

  “Good shooting,” Murdock said. “Anybody see the other piles of goods?”

  “Too damn dark,” Van Dyke said.

  “Send out a WP in the middle of the place,” Lam said. “I might be shot but I’m not out of it.”

  Murdock dug a marked WP 20mm round from his ammo stash and chambered it. “Good idea, Lam. One WP on the way.” He fired into the middle of where the Osprey planes had parked. It blossomed in white streamers and outlined two of the piles of boxes.

  It took them another four minutes to find and explode the remaining ammunition and cartridges. A lot of it would be salvaged tomorrow, but the rebels would have to come back and do it in the light. Maybe by then the government forces would be on hand.

  Murdock heard small arms firing to the south. None of the rounds were coming their way.

  “Lam, how’s it going?” Murdock asked.

  “Hanging, man. I can hike with the best of you. Where we going and when?”

  “Working on that. The maps I saw put us just south of Freetown, the capital city. We’re also about five miles from the coast. Our best bet is to work our way to the coast, then up to the big town, and find some of the government troops.”

  “Why weren’t the Sierra Leone troops here to pick up the goods?” Van Dyke asked.

  “You can bet a lot of folks are going to be asking that same question,” Murdock said.

  They had grouped together, and watched the last of the loading crew from the truck run back down the road they had come on.

  “Not a good idea to use that road,” Murdock said. “We crash brush and head for the coast. Still wonder where the hell the government troops are. Uncle Sam spent a pile of dough for nothing here. Fact is, we gave a bunch of weapons to the rebels. The shit is gonna fly over this one. Let’s take off and see what we can find.”

  Just as they pulled back into the woods, a small vehicle jolted into the clearing and a pedestal-mounted machine gun began chewing up the brush and trees around the edges of the clearing. It started well away from the SEALs and before it came their way, the trio was two hundred yards into the brush and trees.

  Murdock led the way, with Lam in the middle and Van Dyke tail-end Charlie. They hiked through the thinning woods for five minutes, then came to a thick swamp with mangrove trees, sand, and clay.

  “Not going through that mess,” Van Dyke said. “Didn’t they tell us that along here there were about twenty miles of swamps and lagoons and rivers and such? How the hell we gonna get through them?”

  “We don’t,” Murdock said, making an instant decision. “We go back to the field and follow that road. It must be the only piece of solid ground in the area. Once the rebels cut it, they controlled the landing zone. Damn poor planning by the federals; no wonder they are losing their war.”

  “I’m pumping some out again,” Lam said. “Damn bandage came off my leg.”

  They stopped and Van Dyke put on a new bandage, wrapping it tight.

  “Sorry about this, home folks. Usually I don’t get myself shot.”

  “No sweat, beach boy,” Van Dyke said. “Fuck it, I’ll carry you if I need to. Let’s chogie.”

  Murdock led them carefully up to the lower end of the LZ. The glow of the fire still showed on the downed VTOL. They saw no vehicles or men. The rebels should have left someone close by to protect their loot.

  “We’re going to stay in the brush near the road,” said Murdock. “If it’s clear, we’ll use it. First a long look. The rebels have to be down there somewhere. A camp, a patrol, something.”

  A mile down the road, the land on both sides gave way to an evil-looking swamp, and the SEALs had to move out to the road itself. They hiked cautiously, watching all sides, with Murdock monitoring the area ahead with his NVGs. They were just across the stretch with no firm land on either side when Murdock swore.

  “Company up front about three hundred. Looks like a small camp. They have a fire and guards on the road. Must be a vehicle there somewhere but I can’t see it.”

  Murdock looked at Lam. He had been limping badly the past few minutes.

  “I’m fine, just fine and dandy, Commander, sir,” Lam said. “Just figure how in the hell we get out of here.”

  Murdock grinned. If Lam was bitchy he must be making it. Hurting, but weathering the fucking storm. “Back into the woods,” Murdock said. “We work toward them and do some recon, see exactly what we have to work with. How are we on ammo?”

  “Twelve more of the twenties, lots of 5.56,” Van Dyke said.

  “Plenty of both kinds, Skipper,” Lam said.

  The three SEALs worked through the woods near the side of the road on what turned out to be a long spit of solid ground in the middle of the twenty-mile-wide swamp. They saw the wet places more and more at the sides of the road. The mangrove trees flourished in the murky environment. Then Murdock held up his hand and they stopped. Through the brush he’d spotted the camp.

  “Looks like a blocking position,” Murdock said. “But all of their weapons are aimed the other way, down the road to keep anyone from coming up this way. I see four men on duty. One on a heavy machine gun, and the others behind sandbags. Could be a backup platoon sacked out in the brush on that side of the road.”

  “Or on this side,” Lam said. “Wish I could go take a look, but I don’t have the potatoes right now.”

  “I’ll check it,” Murdock said. “Hold here, be back in five.”

  He had only to go another fifty feet to see that the area on his side of the roadblock had no rebel residents. He used the Motorola and called the others forward. They worked past the guards without a sound. The last dozen feet they had to move into the edge of the swamp to find cover at a brushless area next to the road.

  They came out wet to the knees, but without drawing any attention from the rebels.

  “How far we have to go?” Van Dyke asked, nodding at Lam.

  “Can’t say. We take it easy. We’ve got all night. Before the sun comes up we should run into some government troops. If they planned on picking up these munitions and arms, they should have had a bunch of people around.”

  “Why out here in the middle of a twenty-mile-wide swamp?” Van Dyke asked.

  “Hard to get into, easy to defend,” Murdock said. “Just depends who was here first.”

  They kept hiking. Twenty minutes later, Lam went down and Van Dyke called to Murdock.

  “
Give me ten and I’ll be moving again,” Lam said. “Don’t know why I’m so fucking weak.”

  Murdock checked the bandages and found out. Both were bleeding, had been for some time. They treated the wounds again, then wrapped them with the last of their bandages and had Lam lie down and relax. Murdock had two ampoules of morphine in his kit. He opened one and gave the shot to Lam, who nodded.

  “Yeah, Cap, I needed that. Sorry to be such a wipeout. Shit, this isn’t me.”

  “Take it easy. We’ll have you out of here before daylight and on the way to that big floating island off the coast and their hospital. We move out in ten.”

  It was almost twenty minutes before they could get Lam up and walking. Then he leaned on Murdock’s shoulder and Van Dyke carried his weapon and most of his ammo. They saw no more rebels.

  “Hope to hell all the bad guys are behind us by now,” Murdock said.

  An hour before sunrise, Murdock heard laughter ahead. He left the other two and worked up cautiously. Looking past a large mangrove tree, he saw a fire with half a dozen men around it. They were relaxed, and had out no security that he could see. He watched them for ten minutes. No one came to or left the fire. They all had on uniforms, and some had weapons slung over their shoulders muzzle-down.

  Murdock moved up slowly until he was just outside the light from the fire. Looking at the fire so much, they would be night-blind looking into the dark.

  When he was thirty feet away, he lifted up and sent a burst of three rounds over their heads from the 5.56.

  “Don’t move or you’re dead,” Murdock bellowed. “Who’s in charge?”

  One man lifted his hand.

  “Rebels or government troops?” Murdock roared.

  “Government troops, sir. Sergeant Tejan.”

  “Were you supposed to pick up weapons and ammunition tonight from some helicopters?”

  “Yes, sir. Supposed to. Rebels cut us off and we missed it.”

  “Where are the rest of your troops?”

  “We’re an outpost, sir. We have a thousand men a half mile down the road. No way we could get to the landing field.”