Seal Team Seven 04 - Direct Action

by Keith Douglass

  Higgins, like the rest of the SEALS, was carrying as a backup weapon a sound-suppressed Russian Makarov pistol, which they called the P-6. The weapons were part of a stockpile inherited by the Germans from the former East German Spetsnaz special forces. Although the shot was quiet, Higgins couldn't do anything about the dead body rolling back down the hillside. As soon as that happened all the SEALs were up and blazing away with their pistols at the other hunter.

  Even if it had been the hunter's first scrape, which it probably wasn't, his reflexes were perfect. As soon as he saw the green and brown apparitions bouncing up out of the very earth, he instantly abandoned his dog and his shotgun and launched himself down the ridge at a dead run.

  Twenty yards or more is a long pistol shot, especially with a suppressed weapon designed to be used at point-blank range. It was professionally embarrassing, but all the SEALs who were able to get a clear shot missed.

  Twigs and leaves clipped by the bullets fell all around the man, but he remained untouched. He hit the base of the ridge without breaking stride and smashed into the brush.

  Murdock passed hand signals down the perimeter. They said in essence "Let's mount up, we're out of here." It wasn't going to take that hunter very long to find someone to tell his story to.

  The situation was that the Syrians were off to the northeast, and the hunter had run southwest. Murdock looked at his map to try to figure out which village the man would head for. There was one to the east, and another almost equally distant to the west. Great.

  Murdock's choices were even more limited than that, being determined by the available terrain.

  The SEALs headed northwest, Jaybird setting the pace as fast as he felt secure. They had to put some ground between themselves and that ridge.

  Jaybird zigzagged wildly across their base course, to throw off pursuit. Razor spread the last of the CS crystals behind them.

  In a fairly open forest glade Murdock gave a signal. Everyone turned ninety degrees to their right and kept walking. Where there had been one trail now there were seven. A hundred meters or so and they all turned back onto the original course, the seven separate trails returning to one. It was enough to buy them a little time while any tracker stopped to try and figure it all out.

  To make better time and keep from leaving tracks, Jaybird angled the formation around a stretch of boggy ground. They came across a tiny stream, filled their canteens, and walked in it until it disappeared into the earth.

  As Jaybird was elbowing his way through some streamside brush, he suddenly came face-to-face with an equally surprised Lebanese carrying a Kalashnikov.

  31

  Saturday, November 11

  1408 hours North central Lebanon

  In a gunfight, the one who shoots first usually wins. Jaybird Sterling, who like all SEALs patrolled with his rifle at his shoulder and ready to fire, got off a burst before his opponent even had a chance to start work on the cumbersome Kalashnikov safety catch. The force of the rounds threw the man back into the brush.

  Jaybird didn't know if the man was alone or had fifty buddies following along behind, and he didn't intend to stick around to find out. He began a maneuver called the Australian Peel. He emptied his magazine into the bushes in front of him to force everyone who might be in there down on their faces, then turned tail and ran, changing magazines as he went.

  This left Murdock on point. He knew the drill. When Jaybird opened up he had automatically dropped to one knee. As soon as Jaybird moved he fired several short bursts to his front, then followed right behind Sterling.

  Higgins, now in front, did the same. Then Doc. Then DeWitt, who threw a grenade in lieu of firing one-handed. The explosion threw up a nice bit of smoke, so Magic Brown and Razor didn't waste time on a lot of shooting.

  Soon the whole file of SEALs was sprinting in the opposite direction. It had all been neatly done, and without a word of command being spoken.

  But there was fire coming from behind them, and they were obviously being chased.

  They kept running, and the firing continued. Whoever it was was right on their ass. The SEALs had to break contact or the pursuers would dog their heels until, inevitably, they ran right into a larger force.

  As he ran, Jaybird kept looking back over his shoulder to make sure everyone was still with him. When he went over a small rise in the ground Jaybird saw that Murdock had stopped, so he stopped also.

  As each SEAL ran up and saw Murdock on his stomach, they instantly spread out on both sides of him. It only took a few seconds, not even long enough to catch their breath, before the screaming pursuers broke through the trees.

  Murdock fired, and all the SEALs joined in. The pursuers dropped to the ground or behind the trees and began firing back a few moments later.

  As soon as that happened, Murdock slid back down below the cover of the rise and had Jaybird and the SEALs up and running again.

  The hasty ambush had put the first of their pursuers down, but the ones behind must have started running again as soon as the firing stopped. The SEALs had bought themselves some time and distance, but not enough. It wasn't that their pursuers were good; it was that they were Hezbollah and didn't mind running into a few rounds. Paradise was automatic for those who died in battle with the infidel, which covered just about everyone besides themselves. Murdock yelled over his shoulder to Higgins, "Throw a PDM!" The order worked its way back to the end of the line of runners. Razor Roselli tossed one of their two remaining Pursuit Deterrent Munitions over his shoulder.

  A key element of human psychology, of which the SEALs were well aware, was that when you chased someone you assumed they were running in a straight line and would continue to do so. And when you were being chased, you did tend to run in a straight line and at a constant pace.

  So after Razor threw the PDM, Murdock yelled to Jaybird and Jaybird veered hard to his left. He quickly slowed down to a fast walk to minimize the enormous racket they were making.

  Now the SEALs crept along quietly. They heard the PDM explode. There was a pause, and then they could hear the shouting of the Hezbollah continue along their original route.

  Another hundred meters and Jaybird made another hard change of direction. They continued on for a while, and then Murdock flashed him some more hand signals. Jaybird circled around in another question-mark maneuver and they came back on their trail.

  The SEALs set up an ambush and waited, slowly getting their wind back. A fifteen-mile run through beach sand was a lot less tiring than a relatively short run for your life.

  No one came down the trail. They were safe. Again. For the moment.

  32

  Saturday, November 11

  1435 hours North central Lebanon

  Murdock crawled from man to man. He needed to get an idea of their ammunition situation. He also needed to take everyone's temperature, in a manner of speaking.

  "Four magazines," Jaybird whispered. "A hundred and twenty rounds. If it wasn't for those smugglers, I'd be out. One frag grenade, one smoke."

  "Five mags," Higgins reported. "Three frags, about six feet of time fuse, a few igniters, five caps. Used up all the det cord on the diversion."

  "Four magazines," said Doc. "Four frags. I also used up forty rounds of 7.62 match on the smugglers."

  "Three magazines," said Magic. "Three frags. I'd like to use up some of this .50-cal. ammo; it's weighing my ass down."

  "You ever try running with your arm strapped to your chest?" DeWitt wanted to know. "Really slows you up. Magic almost ran me down from behind."

  Even under unbelievable pressure, that almost cheerful, cocky-ass attitude was what Murdock had been expecting to hear. It was why there was a BUD/S, and a Hell Week. The instructors made sure the quitters quit back at Coronado, not in Lebanon. And that the officers who wanted to wear the pretty badge but would sooner or later say, "I'm tired, I don't want to be in charge any more ... you guys do what you want," never made it out of the program.

  "I got four magazi
nes," said Razor Roselli. "The last PDM and two frags. Don't these fucking people know we don't want to be disturbed until it's time to leave?"

  "I guess someone didn't tell them," Murdock whispered in reply.

  "You know what's going to happen now?" said Razor. "They're going to get on the radio and all the Syrians are going to turn right around and come sweeping back down here. And they ain't going to fall for the same trick twice."

  "You've got something on your mind," said Murdock. "Don't keep it to yourself."

  "We've got to head for the mountains."

  "It's wide open," Murdock protested. "The biggest piece of cover is a knee-high bush."

  "They'll close in on us eventually. We'll keep getting chased around these fucking woods until we run out of room, and all it'll take is one good firefight to pin us down. Then they'll close in and keep throwing troops at us until we're either overrun or out of ammo. And that's all she wrote."

  "I don't like it."

  "I don't like it, either," said Razor, "but we gotta do it. These woods are nothing but a trap."

  Murdock didn't take his chief's counsel lightly. He thought hard on the problem. It would be easier to bring the helicopters in without getting them either shot down or shot out of the landing zone. The SEALs only had enough ammunition for one more freight. And not a long one at that.

  He decided, and they began patrolling west toward the mountains. At least in that direction they weren't having to cross one ridgeline after the other. But the woods quickly opened up, and Murdock felt even more exposed.

  A helicopter flew overhead and all the SEALs froze. Movement was more easy to see from the air than shapes, especially well-camouflaged shapes. Even the very act of throwing yourself to the ground could mean compromise. The helicopter disappeared and they resumed patrolling.

  Then Jaybird signaled enemy ahead. Murdock signaled the file to halt, then get down. Jaybird was very close to the edge of the trees. Murdock slipped in beside him, and Jaybird pointed to their front.

  There was a road just beyond the trees. A low-slung BMP-1 armored personnel carrier was parked diagonally across the road. The paint job was Syrian brown and sand. The top hatches and the two rear doors were hanging open. The crew, seven men, were slumped casually against the outside of the vehicle. Some were sleeping, the rest were brewing tea. Their weapons were casually propped up against the tracks. Murdock decided that there had to be at least one man inside the BMP monitoring the radio. Maybe two.

  Using hand signals, Jaybird asked Murdock which way he wanted to go to patrol around them.

  Murdock signaled back to wait. He had an idea, an idea that didn't seem too outlandish once he considered all the angles. Murdock slid back into the brush, and then signaled Razor to come up.

  It took him some time; he didn't make a sound. Then Murdock pointed to the BMP. Razor checked it out and shrugged, as if to say, "So what?"

  Using his finger, Murdock drew a diagram in the dirt. One of Razor's eyebrows shot up, and then he nodded approvingly. He slid back and brought up the rest of the SEALS.

  They were all briefed on what Murdock wanted without a word being spoken. It took a bit of diagramming, but soon they all signaled their understanding.

  The Syrian mechanized infantrymen had no inkling of what was going on when what seemed to be a group of their fellow soldiers burst from the tree line. The uniforms made them freeze for a crucial few seconds, but they realized something was wrong. The weapons were pointed at them. They had no chance, which was exactly how Murdock had planned it.

  The SEALs opened fire as they charged. The prone Syrians weren't even able to lift themselves up, let alone get to their weapons.

  The SEALs could have shot them from inside the cover of the tree line, but Murdock needed to get to that vehicle fast.

  While the rest of the SEALs made sure the Syrians on the outside were dead, Razor Roselli leaped up onto the top of the BMP, stuck his AKM into the driver's hatch, and fired. Only then did he risk a peek inside. No one was there. He quickly shifted his weapon over to the nearby vehicle commander's hatch and repeated the process.

  As did Magic Brown atop the weapons turret. But when he inserted his barrel into the hatch a pistol shot was fired out at him. Magic didn't expose himself in the hatch; he just worked the barrel back and forth, firing continuously.

  At the same time Murdock was charging around the rear of the vehicle. He fired at an angle into one of the rear doors. When he stopped he could hear the ching-ching-ching of his rounds continuing to ricochet around the interior. After that sound stopped he leaned in the door to finish the job, but the troop compartment was empty.

  Grenades would have done the work much easier, but a catastrophic explosion of all the BMP's stored ammunition was the last thing Murdock wanted. He had other plans for the vehicle. As soon as Jaybird had pointed it out to him, a question had presented itself. Why walk up the bare hills where everyone could shoot you at their leisure, when you could drive right up them in the armored comfort of one of the enemy's official vehicles?

  When Murdock emerged from the troop compartment, he saw Razor and Magic pulling the deadweight of a blood-soaked Syrian out of the turret hatch. He had been the only one inside the vehicle.

  The rest of the SEALs were stripping the other Syrians of their equipment. The bodies were then dragged off into the trees. The weapons and equipment were tossed into the troop compartment.

  "Okay," Murdock said, anxious to be on the road. "Who knows how to drive a BMP?"

  It was not outside the conceivable range of skills possessed by a SEAL platoon.

  "I drove a T-62 at Aberdeen Proving Ground one time," said Higgins.

  Jaybird came out of the trees, wiping the blood off his hand onto his trousers and grinning triumphantly. "I drove a BMP at National Training Center," he announced.

  "Well, what the fuck are you waiting for, an invitation?" Razor Roselli growled impatiently. "Get in and drive the motherfucker already."

  Jaybird did just that. It had been a while since enemy vehicle familiarization training at Fort Irwin, and it took a minute to get reacquainted with all the controls and instruments. Then he worked the engine's pneumatic starter, and the six-cylinder, three-hundred-horsepower water-cooled diesel roared to life.

  Murdock went over to the turret first, but the entire compartment was drenched with blood and splattered bits of flesh. He had no idea how to operate the 73mm gun and Sagger antitank missile system anyway. At least that was how he rationalized his decision.

  Instead he jumped into the vehicle commander's hatch located directly behind Jaybird. Lying across the seat was a padded wool Russian armored vehicle crew helmet. It smelled like it had been worn continuously and not washed since World War II. Not inconceivable, since the Russians had worn the same model helmet fifty years back. Murdock put it on anyway; otherwise he wouldn't be able to hear over the vehicle intercom system.

  Hanging on a hook was a microphone that also looked like it dated back to World War II. In good Russian fashion there were diagrams denoting the function of the switches and dials, for those who couldn't read. The communications switch was set on radio. Murdock turned it to what looked like intercom. He keyed the microphone and, a little apprehensive at the prospect of mistakenly transmitting to the entire Syrian Army, tentatively asked, "Jaybird?"

  "Yes, Sir?" came the reply.

  Murdock was able to look back over his shoulder and see into the troop compartment. The rest of the SEALs had climbed in. They had closed the clamshell rear doors and were in the process of opening the four troop-compartment roof hatches to let in some air. Razor Roselli gave him the thumbs-up to let him know they had everyone and were ready to move.

  "Let's go, Jaybird," Murdock said over the intercom. He'd jacked his seat up until his head was sticking out the hatch. If you stayed down inside the vehicle you couldn't see squat out the thick glass vision blocks.

  "Where to, sir?"

  "Swing this thing around
and head south. Take the first real road you see on your right. That's the one that heads up into the mountains."

  "Aye, aye, Sir."

  Because it was a tracked vehicle, the BMP was steered by a clutch-and-brake system. Each track had an independent brake. So to make a left turn, the driver locked the brake on the left track while allowing the right track to continue to roll. The longer the brake was held down, the tighter the turn. It took a little getting used to.

  Jaybird shifted the transmission into first gear, locked the brake on the left track, and released the clutch on the right.

  The BMP lurched around 180 degrees, on a dime. A large dime, but still a dime. It lurched around so quickly that Murdock's head went clanging off the side of the hatch opening. Smelly or not, he was grateful for the padded helmet. He could hear the SEALs and equipment spilling around the inside of the troop compartment, and decided not to look back.

  As the BMP finished its turn, Jaybird popped the clutch on the left track and headed them straight down the road. A heavy tank rides very smooth, but a light armored vehicle takes bumps surprisingly hard.

  Fourth gear on the BMP topped out at around thirty-five miles an hour. In a rare flash of prudence, Jaybird decided not to shift into fifth gear or get anywhere near the top speed of fifty miles an hour until he got the hang of the vehicle.

  "This is the turn," Murdock said into the microphone.

  Jaybird waited just a bit too long before downshifting and braking the right track. The BMP went right past the turn. Jaybird turned anyway, and the BMP went up and over a grassy embankment and made a teeth-shattering drop back onto the road.

  The BMP bounced nicely, and this time Murdock's head hit the front of the hatch ring.

  "Take it easy, goddammit!" he shouted into the intercom.

  "Sorry, sir," came the reply. Jaybird straightened the BMP out and headed up the road.

  Murdock looked up ahead, and could see the road snake up into the mountains. He felt better than he had all afternoon, and was almost enjoying himself. If you considered staying alive the ultimate expression of luck, then theirs had been pretty good. But with all the trouble they'd had staying alive, it could have been a lot better. Murdock thought he could feel everything turning around.