Seal Team Seven 04 - Direct Action

by Keith Douglass

  The S-turn caused the Blackhawk to disappear within the chaff clouds that showed up on the Gun Dish radar as separate and distinct targets. The radar lock was broken. The Gun Dish tried to decide between the slowly dissipating chaff clouds, but couldn't. By then the terrain elevation had changed and the Blackhawks were safely back in ground clutter.

  When the steady tone in their headsets stopped, Miguel Fernandez and Red Nicholson caught each other's eyes across the cabin and smiled weakly.

  45

  Saturday, November 11

  1925 hours North central Lebanese mountains

  Murdock thought he heard movement on the other side of the rock dome. Yes, there it was again. All it took was one man to slip on a little loose rock, or one piece of equipment to swing free.

  He could imagine the Syrians contemplating the dome. Would it stop them, or would they have the balls to try it in the dark?

  Razor's voice came over the radio net. "This is Two, contact imminent."

  Then Jaybird's voice. "You need help?"

  "Negative," Razor ordered. "Stay put. And everyone keep off the net unless it's an emergency. We're going to need to talk over here."

  A string of acknowledgments from the rest of the SEALs followed. The MX-300's were all set on low power, so with luck the transmissions weren't carrying past the mountain ridge. Not that the Syrians could be listening in on the encrypted messages. Murdock was worried about them getting a fix on the location of the transmissions. But it took a long time for any army to work that kind of information through its various levels of command.

  Murdock heard metal knock against rock. The sound seemed to be coming from the side of the dome. So the Syrians were giving it a try. And they were doing a good job keeping quiet too. It wasn't easy moving over rock in the darkness. If they were a little less competent, he might be able to get an idea of the size of the force on the other side.

  Then the sound of hammering started up at the dome. It culminated in a clear metallic ringing that carried far in the night air.

  Razor's whispered voice came up on the net again. "If that wasn't a piton, then I'm not an E-7."

  "Roger," Murdock replied. There was no mistaking that sound. A piton was a piece of mountaineering equipment, a metal wedge like a spike with a ring on the fat end. It came in various widths and sizes, and was designed to be hammered into cracks in rock in order to secure a climbing rope. The metallic ringing he'd heard was the sound a piton made when it was wedged solidly into a rock crack.

  All the Syrians had to do was hammer in a line of pitons across the dome and rig a fixed rope to them. They could all just hook onto the rope and walk right across.

  Murdock was also not pleased with the realization that he was dealing with specialty mountain troops experienced at moving over rock at night. They were not going to be easily dissuaded.

  The hammering and ringing sounds gradually worked their way across the dome. Murdock kept his night goggle focused on the edge. The first booby trap was Razor's. It was his move.

  Razor Roselli had the fishing line looped around his left hand. Even though he'd positioned the booby trap below any climber's line of sight, he didn't want to let a Syrian get too close to it. All they'd have to do to disarm the grenade was cut the fishing line.

  It was time. He gathered up the line until it was taut in his hand, and then gave a hard yank.

  The grenade explosion lit up his NVG and made his eyes hurt. There was a scream, and then sounds of thrashing and sliding. Then the screams were coming from lower on the dome, and went on and on.

  The grenade had blown the climber off the rock, but the Syrian was tied to a rope hooked along the pitons he'd already put in. Whoever was belaying the other end of the rope had caught him, so now he was dangling from the rope a little lower on the dome. Just hanging there and bleeding and screaming. And he was going to keep on screaming until someone got him back and gave him some morphine. Or he died. Better him than me, Razor thought.

  The screaming went on for five minutes by Murdock's watch. It stopped before more climbing sounds were heard on the dome, as new climbers pulled the body up and passed it back.

  Another piton was being hammered in. They were climbing again. But Murdock guessed that they were being a damn sight more careful. It wouldn't do them any good. He was able to see his grenade right at the edge of the dome, but no climbers would notice it until they'd already swung across.

  Another piton rang out. The Syrians were getting closer. Murdock saw a man's hand come around the edge and feel around. But he wasn't checking low enough. Murdock took up the slack in his line.

  The Syrian's body came around the edge. Murdock pulled on the line at the same time he ducked behind the rock.

  The grenade blew, and Murdock thought he heard some of the fragments going past. There was no screaming this time. Murdock raised up his head. The Syrian wasn't there. The rocks had dark scorch marks on them from the explosion. At least Murdock thought they were scorch marks.

  Someone shouted on the other side of the dome. Ah, thought Murdock, discipline was starting to break down. Maybe the next guy who'd been tapped to go across was a little hesitant.

  So far the Syrians had no reason to believe that the booby traps were anything other than mines set to delay them. They might not even think there was anyone on the other side of the dome. That was just fine with Murdock.

  The SEALs' AKMs were fitted with French SOPELEM PS-2 laser aiming lights. Just like the American PAQ-4, but not traceable back to the U.S. military. The small tube weighed only nine ounces and clamped to the AKM's barrel.

  Murdock heard the climbing sounds start up again, and through his NVG he saw the dot from Razor's sighting unit blink on and settle on the edge of the dome.

  "Okay, you've got the first shot," Murdock whispered into his microphone. Razor responded by keying his mike.

  In the green glow of his NVG, Murdock could see a Syrian's head peering around the dome.

  Razor held his fire. The Syrian exposed himself some more. Razor settled the laser dot on the Syrian's chest and squeezed the trigger.

  The Syrian must have unhooked himself from the rope. Razor could hear the body falling down the slope. Well, now they know we're here, he thought.

  It didn't take the Syrians long to react. Murdock heard a series of hollow metallic pops on the other side of the dome. He forced himself not to duck for cover. He needed to watch to make sure the Syrians didn't come around the side of the dome. But he did hunker down a little lower in the rocks.

  Five or six grenades exploded loudly behind the SEALS. BG-15's, Murdock thought. A Russian 40mm grenade launcher that mounted beneath the AK series of rifles much the same as the U.S. M203 attached to the M-16. Except the Russian grenade launcher was muzzle-loaded, lighter, and more compact and reliable.

  The Syrians kept up a steady fire of grenades, but they were shooting blind and their range was too long; about a hundred yards past the SEALS. Even so, Murdock was worried. Now they couldn't leave even if they wanted to. Falling back meant having to pass through the grenade barrage.

  Razor was his usual psychic self. "I guess we're stuck here for now," he said over the net.

  A Syrian poked his AKM around the edge of the dome and hosed off an unaimed burst. Murdock and Razor treated that with the silent contempt it deserved.

  The barrel came around again, and there was another wild burst. Then the Syrian stuck his head around the corner. Razor's aiming dot raced over. A single shot rang out, and the Syrian fell with a bullet in his head.

  While Razor kept the Syrians pinned down, Murdock scanned the rest of the dome to forestall any nasty surprises.

  He thought he saw the tiniest bit of movement near the very top of the dome. He kept his eyes on it and waited. The muzzle of a rifle barrel became visible. Murdock was impressed. It must have been a mother of a climb to get up there. The muzzle didn't look like a machine gun. Probably a sniper rifle with a starlight scope. The Syrian snipers h
ad a good reputation. They used the excellent Austrian Steyr instead of the cruder Russian Dragunov.

  "Sniper on top of the dome," Murdock reported into his microphone. "I've got him."

  "Roger," Razor replied.

  Murdock quickly weighed tossing a grenade. No, the way the dome was shaped the Syrian was going to have to lean farther out to get a shot. Murdock clicked on his laser light and placed the dot on the muzzle of the rifle above.

  Laser sights were no panacea. If you failed to follow all the rules of good shooting, you could miss just as easily with a laser as a set of old-fashioned iron sights. Murdock had the AKM's stock locked into his shoulder. When the scope atop the Syrian's rifle appeared, he held his breath. When he could see the top of a head, he began his trigger squeeze.

  He fired, and the rifle clattered over the top of the dome. Murdock kept watch, but there was no more movement up there.

  The BG-15 gunners began to get the idea. They reduced their range with each barrage, and the grenades began falling closer to the SEALS.

  "We've got to break contact," Murdock radioed. "One grenade each over the dome, at my command, then leapfrog. You first."

  "Understood," Razor replied.

  Murdock dug an M75 frag out of his pocket. He pulled the pin and kept the spoon pressed against his palm.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  "Hang on," said Razor. "I want to get rid of my PDM first."

  Murdock saw their last Pursuit Deterrent Munition leave Razor's hand and drop in front of them. It would be in the Syrians' path once they made it around the dome.

  "Ready," Razor said.

  "Now!" Murdock released the spoon, let the fuse cook for two seconds, and lobbed the grenade high over the dome. He quickly picked up his AKM and got the laser dot back on the edge of the rock.

  The grenades exploded. The BG-15's fell silent, but Murdock knew it would not be for long. Razor ran by him, and kept going past the spot where the grenades had been impacting. Murdock squeezed off a few rounds at the edge of the dome to keep the Syrians back.

  The BG-15's began firing again, and the grenades began closing in on Murdock. He got out another M75.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  "Ready."

  "Now." Murdock lobbed the grenade over the dome.

  When the grenades exploded he turned tail and ran. But the BG-15's started up too soon. Murdock made a split-second decision not to take cover. If the grenades pinned him down he might never get out.

  Murdock leaped from rock to rock. The grenades exploded all around him. Loud, very loud. A grenade went off right behind him and knocked him onto the ground.

  46

  Saturday, November 11

  1952 hours North central Lebanese mountains

  Murdock pitched face-first onto the rocks. He knew he was hurt; it felt like hot needles sticking into him all the way down his legs. But sometimes blind terror was a help, not a hindrance. Murdock pushed himself up off the ground. If his legs worked he was going to move.

  His legs worked. He got on his feet, but his ears were ringing and he was disoriented; he didn't know which way to run. Then he saw Razor's muzzle flash. More grenades exploded around him. They spurred Murdock into a loping, limping run across the rocks toward Razor.

  "Razor!" Murdock spoke into his microphone. He got no reply. He kept running, but it didn't seem to him as if he was gaining much ground.

  Suddenly rounds began cracking past him. Some Syrians must have finally made it around the dome.

  Murdock threw himself over the rocks, almost into Razor Roselli's lap. Considering the expression on Razor's face, Murdock didn't think he was in such good shape. Razor was yelling into his radio. Murdock couldn't hear a thing in his own earpiece, and the ringing in his ears didn't allow him to hear Razor. In that kind of situation there was only one thing for a SEAL to do. Murdock leaned over the rocks and brought his weapon to bear. His NVG was smashed, so he ripped it off his face. The Russians had designed the AKM with handy luminous night dots on the front and rear sights. Murdock lined the dots up one on top of the other and began firing at the Syrian muzzle flashes in front of him.

  Razor Roselli had to shout in his microphone to reach above the noise of the firefight. "Jaybird, you got anything going on down there?"

  "Negative, Chief."

  "Then you and Magic get your asses up here. The lieutenant's hit and we could use some help."

  "On the way," said Jaybird.

  "You need me?" Doc Ellsworth broke in.

  "Negative, the lieutenant's still shooting," Razor said proudly. "I want you on the 117. You're the primary radio now. Stand by to bring those birds in."

  "Roger," Doc replied.

  There was an explosion among the Syrians in front of the dome. Razor knew it had to be his PDM. The Syrian fire slackened, so Razor stepped up his rate of fire. Between shots he kept sneaking glances over at Murdock. The lieutenant's face was bloody; it looked like blood down the back of his legs, but the game bastard was putting out rounds like he was back on the Chocolate Mountain range. Razor spoke to his Old Testament SEAL God like a chief--no sniveling. "Don't let me lose this one, sir, he's something special."

  "Razor!" came a shout from behind them.

  "Over here!" Roselli bellowed. "Come up!" Jaybird and Magic crawled the last stretch on their bellies. The Syrian fire was getting hot. "Put some rounds out!" Razor shouted. Jaybird and Magic paused only for a second to look over at Murdock, who was doggedly changing magazines. Then they began firing.

  Razor had one grenade left. He crawled over to Jaybird and rummaged in his pouches. He found two frags and, holy shit, a smoke grenade! Just what the doctor ordered.

  "I could kiss you, you sweet little shit," Razor shouted in Jaybird's ear.

  Jaybird gave Razor a funny look and continued firing.

  Razor took another frag off Magic. "Okay," he shouted over the sounds of the firing. "I'll throw two frags. Jaybird, you leapfrog back with the lieutenant. Two more frags and Magic and I'll go."

  Everyone nodded. Razor whipped the grenades at the dome.

  Jaybird went to put Murdock in a wounded-man carry, but was surprised to hear, "Stop grabbing at me. I can walk, goddammit!"

  "Sorry, sir," was all Jaybird could think to say.

  The grenades blew, and the incoming fire slowed again. Jaybird and Murdock set off. First they crawled, because they were still exposed to Syrian fire. Then they made the cover of a dip in the ground and got to their feet. Murdock's limp was more pronounced.

  They ran until they reached the next bit of higher ground where they could get a good field of fire. A rising mound of rocks. Once safely behind it, they began putting down cover fire for Razor and Magic.

  Razor pitched out two more frags, then dropped the white smoke grenade right in front of them.

  The grenades exploded, the white smoke billowed up, and Razor and Magic were off to the races.

  Razor heard rounds cracking past him as he ran. Then, just before they reached the rock mound, a stream of green tracers passed right across the gap between him and Magic.

  An impact took Magic in the hip and spun him right around in the air. He fell forward over the mound.

  Jaybird was on him instantly.

  "Where am I hit?" Magic demanded. Nothing hurt. That was all right.

  "A round hit the magazine pouch on your hip, you lucky fuck!" Jaybird shouted.

  "Wish that'd happened to me," Murdock called from across the mound.

  That reminded Razor Roselli that his lieutenant had been wounded, and now that they had a little cover and distance from the Syrians, he ought to be checking it out.

  "Magic, if you ain't hurt get off your ass," Razor ordered. "You and Jaybird put out enough fire to keep 'em from charging us." He scrambled over to Murdock. "Hold on a second, Boss, I want to look you over."

  Most of Murdock's hearing had returned. His legs felt stiff, but the burning was less if he didn't move. The pain wasn't that bad, but he had a
headache and was sick to his stomach. "I'm okay, Chief, don't worry about it."

  "No problem, Boss, just roll over on your stomach for me."

  The lieutenant's radio pack looked like Swiss cheese. Razor cut the straps off his shoulders. There weren't any holes in the lieutenant's back. Small grenade fragment wounds were peppered across his ass and down the backs of his legs all the way to his boots. The holes were all oozing blood, but there was no serious bleeding going on. "Roll over on your back, Boss."

  There were no wounds on Murdock's front. He had some shrapnel cuts on the face and forehead, but nothing near the eyes. "Boss, you got about a million little holes in your ass and legs. I'd like to wrap them up, but we ain't got enough battle dressings."

  "Oh, fuck it," said Murdock. "Let 'em bleed."

  Razor held up the radio pack. "This took most of the blast."

  "I know you," said Murdock. "You're just trying to con me into carrying the radio from now on. You done?"

  "You want a shot of morphine?"

  "Hell, no. It doesn't hurt that bad, and I don't need to get any more slowed down."

  "Then I'm done," said Razor.

  Murdock felt the chest pocket of his jacket. "Would you believe I fell on my fucking Motorola? I was wondering why it wasn't working."

  "I'll make sure you know what's going on," said Razor.

  47

  Saturday, November 11

  2002 hours North central Lebanese mountains

  The Syrians kept up a heavy fire, but showed no signs of advancing. The four SEALs lay spread across the rock mound and wondered why they weren't being treated to a classic infantry assault. The Syrians could certainly tell that there were only four rifles shooting at them. Granted, the ridgeline wasn't wide enough to get more than ten to fifteen men on line abreast, but that ought to be more than enough to do the job.

  The answer, Murdock thought, might be that in such a tight space it was easier for him to maneuver four men than the Syrian commander his much larger unit. Maybe the grenades they'd thrown over the dome had taken out some of the leadership.