Payback sts-17

by Keith Douglass

  He went over the two pages three times, made changes and used the spell checker, then printed it out. He made four copies, put two in envelopes and addressed them, then took them at once to the Quarter Deck, where Master Chief MacKenzie looked at the sealed envelopes and lifted his brows.

  “Something you’re not telling me, lad, sir.”

  “Aye, that’s the lot of it, MacKenzie. And a good thing for now that you’re not knowing.” Both were deep into Scottish brogues.

  “So, I’ll deliver this one in person to His Nibs the Commander.”

  Murdock grinned. “Thanks, Gordon. I’ll get back to my important work.”

  At his desk, the first thing Murdock did was to review the folder that showed a record of wounds received by platoon members. He’d looked up DeWitt’s for his chat with him. Now he studied the rest of the medical reports.

  Bradford had had three serious wounds, but had bounced back. Franklin also had had three wounds, none serious. Ching had had four wounds, two serious. Lampedusa led the list with six wounds, two serious. It made Murdock consider taking Lam off point and removing him as his chief scout. Lam was the best in the platoon. But should he put the man at risk for another wound? Murdock could remember his own three wounds. The rotator cuff shot in his right shoulder had been the worst.

  He added his in-and-out lower-right-arm wound on this mission and checked the rest of the men. None of the others had more than two wounds. Lam was the only one he was concerned about. He’d have a talk with the man and see if he wanted to let someone else take the point.

  Then Murdock looked at the package that had come while they were away. He tore it open. Six new underwater, waterproof Motorola personal-communication radios. Yes. Now they could talk to each other while on underwater approaches. It would help them stay together. For now there would be three of the radios in each platoon. The radios used throat mikes that would always be on. Just talk and you broadcast. He read a pamphlet that came with them. Good on land for up to six miles. Underwater, where sound transfer was better, up to eight miles. It said sonar would create static on the sets if the frequencies were anywhere near it. He put that down on his list for a quick trial.

  He looked over the platoon roster. So far he didn’t need any new men. Only one wound. They had been lucky on this sequence. Were there any of the men who weren’t keeping up, who were shirking their workloads or messing up in combat? He went over the list twice and found nobody he wanted to boot back into the black-shoe Navy.

  Murdock checked his watch. Nearly 0800. The platoon was due in, and Masciareli usually came in about this time. Just as he thought it, his phone rang. He answered it.

  “Dammit, Murdock, you just might have something here,” Commander Masciareli boomed through the handset. “With everything else exploding around here, everyone just forgot about that neat little underwater building. I have a call into the admiral right now about launching an investigation into the radio traffic out of that area. Simple job with sniffer plane flying over and monitoring the platform. If that warrants it, we’ll move out with the Coast Guard and do a complete electronic inspection of the oil-drilling rig.”

  “What about the underwater building, Commander?”

  “That will be the next step. If the tower shows North Koreans, we’ll have you and your men go down and blast a hole into that underwater bunker. Then we’ll see what really is going on down there.”

  “Thank you, Commander. We’re ready to help anytime you give us the word.”

  “Hang loose, Murdock. If I know the admiral, this could all go down in a matter of ten to twelve hours.”

  DeWitt came in and sat down in the only other chair. He picked the training sked off the wall and looked at it.

  Murdock said good-bye and hung up. He handed DeWitt a copy of his letter and went out to the squad room to see how the men were doing. DeWitt came boiling out after him a minute later.

  “You think this might be the key? We were so damn close and we let it slip away?”

  “Could be. Masciareli thinks the admiral will move quickly on it, maybe even today. For training today let’s keep it at home. We’ll do some beach running with full combat gear and weapons, then do the O course again. Hey, come in here. Have I got something to show to you.”

  DeWitt bellowed in delight when he saw the waterproof personal radios.

  “Three for your squad and three for mine. We’ll try them this afternoon just off the beach if nothing else pops. You keep one, give your point man one, and pick a man for the third. Oh, I’d like Mahanani to have one as the platoon medic.”

  “Right, Franklin gets the third. He did a good job tracking for us yesterday. Led us right down the trail. Said he’d been watching Lam.”

  “Do we have any kind of a wound limit? How many enemy wounds can a SEAL take and still stay in the platoons?”

  “Never heard of any limit. Depends on the wounds. That third one was just an in-and-out on my arm. They shouldn’t count. Like that one you picked up in the Carib.”

  “Lam has six wounds.”

  “Damn, that many? Maybe he shouldn’t walk point anymore.”

  “I’m going to talk to him about it.” Murdock looked at DeWitt, but couldn’t see any change from yesterday. “You mention the idea to Milly about getting your own platoon?”

  De Witt hooded his eyes and nodded once. “Right, we went over it for about an hour. She’s all for it. Said it would get me away from Don Stroh and you and all the combat missions we have. I figured she’d say that.”

  “But you’re just pigheaded enough that you want to go right on getting shot at and shot up and maybe killed.”

  DeWitt grinned. “Fuck, yes, Commander. Why do you suppose you and I are both still here?” They both laughed and waved at Senior Chief Sadler, who walked in.

  “That still doesn’t answer my basic question, Lieutenant. I’ll expect your answer by tonight.”

  Sadler didn’t try to understand. “All men are present and accounted for, Commander. Everyone on deck.”

  “Thanks, Sadler. Training begins in thirty. Beach run, then the O course. Get them ready.” Sadler turned and left.

  DeWitt frowned looking at the new Motorolas. “Did we see if they are set with the same chips so they can talk to our old dry sets?”

  Murdock shook his head. He picked up one of the sets, studied it a minute, then turned a small on switch and pushed the earpiece in place. Murdock pointed, and De Witt went into the squad room and used his dry-land Motorola.

  “So, Murdock, can you read me,” he said after swinging the lip mike down from where it rested near his floppy hat brim.

  “Just about five by five, Mr. DeWitt. I’d say we have a winner here that will mesh nicely with our other sets.”

  The phone rang and Murdock picked it up. “Team Seven, Third Platoon, Murdock.”

  “Murdock, stand by. The admiral sounded like he almost wet his pants when I told him about the antennas. He’s sending a fixed-wing sniffer plane up there in ten minutes. It can detect any radio signal from half a watt up to broadband and pinpoint where it’s coming from. We should know about the radio transmissions in an hour. Let’s say we need to blow a big hole in that concrete bunker down there. Can our big limpet mines do the trick?”

  “The heavy ones could, or we could rig them with four pounds of C-5 to boost things along.”

  “Good, draw the mines now. Make it six, and get the extra C-5 or TNAZ. Get on it. I’ve sent a CH-46 to North Island to be on standby. My guess is that your platoon will be moving within two hours. Hold training. Get your men ready for a swim.”

  “That’s a roger, Commander.”

  DeWitt had come back in, and looked questioningly at Murdock. “Masciareli again?”

  Murdock told him the situation. “I’ll go with Senior Chief Sadler to supply right now and draw those limpets and the TNAZ,” DeWitt said. “How do we attach that explosive to the limpets?” He shrugged. “We’ll figure that out in the chopper, or back
here if we have time. Hey, the Navy can move ass-fast when it wants to.” He turned and hurried out the door.

  Murdock went into the squad room. “Listen up,” he bellowed in his best parade-ground voice. The room quieted immediately. “We’re probably going for a swim. Remember that concrete blockhouse we found on the ocean floor up near that oil-drilling platform? There’s a chance we may go back up there with a fistful of limpet mines and blow a hole in it. The admiral is on it, sent a sniffer plane up there to check on radio transmissions coming from the oil rig. That could be the GHQ for the North Korean operation.”

  “Hell, wish we had known that a week ago,” Jaybird said.

  “So do the rest of us. So, no training today. We could be moving in as little as two hours. Get your wet gear ready. Full wet suits. We also have six new underwater personal radios that work as well submerged as they do on dry land. Three in each squad for now until we can get the rest of our order. Mahanani, Jaybird, Franklin, and Lam check out the new gadgets from the senior chief. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Weapons, sir?” Sadler asked.

  Murdock stopped. “The Bull Pups won’t be much good seventy-five feet down. How many of those short spear guns do we have, Senior Chief?”

  “Last time I looked we had ten.”

  “Issue five per squad. What about bang sticks?”

  “I thought the Navy gave up on them, used them just for shark attacks,” Mahanani said.

  “The brass might have, but we didn’t. How many, Senior Chief?”

  “Have to scrape the back of the weapons room, Commander. We’ve loaned some out that didn’t come back. I’d say maybe ten.”

  “Issue each man without a spear gun a bang stick. Probably a one-shot affair with them. The spear guns have three of the short spears?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If this goes down, we’ll take on the tower first, so bring weapons. My guess here is to go with all MP-5’s. We have enough, Senior Chief?”

  “Aye, that we do, Commander.”

  “So use the modified water-to-land combat vest with your pockets filled with magazines for the Five. Let’s get to work.”

  Murdock went to his equipment locker and checked his gear. The new Draegr was ready. He had one of the short spearguns. They were rubber-tube fired and could be reloaded quickly. He checked his KA-BAR. They had a cutdown version of the combat vest that worked with the wet suits. They would take that to support their MP-5’s. They didn’t know what they would find on the tower. If the North Koreans there chose to fight, it could get deadly in that cramped space. The civilians working there must know something strange was going on. They must be getting triple pay to stay working. How many civilians would there be? Ten, maybe fifteen to run a rig like that. At least to run it during the day and when any ships came near.

  Sadler came up to Murdock. “Wet suits and knives and the bang sticks and spearguns and good old MP-5’s. What else are we going to need?”

  “We’ll have the large limpets to get down there. Rustle up six float bags we can use half filled so we don’t go down too fast.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Murdock went back to his office and found himself watching the telephone. He snorted and looked away, pulling out paperwork he should have done two days ago. It would keep him busy the rest of the morning. If they had the rest of the morning.

  DeWitt came in grinning. “We brought the limpets in a Humvee parked outside. Supply also gave us some epoxy glue that will stick anything to anything. We’ve pasted the half-pound blocks of TNAZ around the face of the limpets. Four pounds on each one. We’ve got to be sure every one of our men is above water before those babies go off.”

  “Good work on the limpets. Heads out of the water, we can do that. Check your squad. Let’s be ready.” DeWitt went back to the squad room.

  The more Murdock thought about the oil platform and the sunken bunker, the more certain he was that he was right. The North Koreans had been planning the attack even while the SEALs had crawled around the outside of their GHQ. The tower must be where the leaders of the attack lived when not down below organizing and managing the hits on the U.S. He wondered again how many of the American men on the tower were in on the game. They had to have a few oilmen on the rig to keep it drilling, or at least give the appearance of drilling. The SEALs would find out soon. The tower attack would come first — if indeed they were ordered to take out the tower and then the underwater bunker.

  At 1000 Murdock called the commander. “Sir, it’s been over two hours. Anything from the admiral?”

  “Yes, we’re working on it. The plane reported massive amounts of radio signals coming from the tower. Some in code, some in Korean voices, some in bursts too fast to intercept. The admiral has ordered a hit on the tower. To be sure we surprise them, your platoon will chopper to Santa Barbara and take a Coast Guard cutter out to the tower. The Coast Guard will move you in close enough to land on it. If there is any weapons fire from the tower, you are authorized to use all of your weapons to capture it. When the tower is in friendly hands, your men will go below and blow the blockhouse.”

  “When do we fly out of North Island?”

  “We had it set for 1300. Just a minute. The other line.”

  The phone went dead when the commander switched. Murdock hung on, and felt like he had one foot out of a chopper to jump into the ocean and somebody had stopped him and said to wait. When Commander Masciareli came back on the phone, his voice had risen two notes.

  “That was the admiral. The spotter plane has found a freighter moving up slowly toward the oil rig. It’s a mile away, but definitely headed that way. Freighters usually don’t sail that route. We’re thinking that the freighter has come to take the North Koreans off the tower and out of the bunker below the water. We don’t want to let them get away. He’s ordering your men into the choppers as quickly as you can make it. A Coast Guard cutter will stop the freighter and board her for a health inspection. Get your men moving now, Murdock.” Commander Masciareli’s voice boomed over the handset and held a great deal of satisfaction. He had been in on setting up this mission.

  Santa Barbara, California

  The sixteen SEALs crowded together in the cabin belowdecks on the Coast Guard Cutter Reliance, a 210-foot ship with sixty-three men and twelve officers. Just after it pushed off from the Coast Guard dock in Santa Barbara, Murdock talked with the skipper, Lieutenant Wilson.

  “Yes, sir, Commander. We have two fifty-caliber machine guns that can do a lot of damage if they provoke us. We should be able to keep their heads down long enough for your team to get on board. We just heard on the radio that our cutter that went out to stop that freighter was fired on. We put two rounds from our twenty-five-millimeter Bushmaster over their bow and they kept going for a mile. A second round just in front of the bow brought the ship to a slow stop. They are about half a mile off the tower. They’re now anchored, and our plane has reported there is movement from the tower to the freighter in two boats.”

  “They must have known we were coming,” Murdock said. “First we need to take down the tower. I’d guess they will have riflemen on the tower now as well. Can your cutter stop any boarding of the freighter by those boats?”

  “We’re doing that. The small boats can’t get to the rope ladders the freighter has put overboard. So far the other cutter reports there are about ten men in the boats trying to get to the freighter. Unfortunately, they have rifles as well, and are using them.”

  “How long until we get to the tower?” Murdock asked.

  “Another ten minutes,” Lieutenant Wilson said. “We’re making eighteen knots. That’s our flank speed.”

  Murdock went below and told the men the situation. “If they fire at us, we’ll let the Coast Guard return fire with their Fifties. When we get close enough we’ll hose the place down with our MP-5’s.”

  “Civilians?” Donegan asked.

  “If they don’t have sense enough to hide, some of them might get shot
,” Murdock said. “They knew they were playing a dangerous game. Some of them might lose.”

  The cutter came within five hundred yards of the tower and she began to take rifle fire. The two fifty-caliber machine guns on the cutter returned fire and quieted the tower rifles for a while. Then the shooting began again, and Murdock edged up to take a look. “Three hundred yards,” he told DeWitt, who was just behind him. “Wish we had brought at least one Bull Pup.”

  One Coast Guard shooter took a round in the leg. Another man grabbed the machine gun and kept it shooting.

  Two hundred yards. Murdock decided. “Alpha Squad on deck and fire at will. Three-round bursts.” The eight SEALs scattered around the front of the cutter and chattered out a thundering volume of fire. After all the SEALs had emptied a magazine, they noticed that the firing from the tower had stopped.

  “Cease fire,” Murdock said on the Motorola. The SEAL guns quieted. At a hundred yards the rifles on the tower fired again. “Commence firing,” Murdock said, and the eight weapons blasted another thirty rounds each into the tower, 240 9mm slugs jolting into it, glancing off steel and splattering on more steel. Windows in the top level shattered.

  “Bravo Squad, get ready to board the tower. DeWitt, we’ll keep up covering fire as your men work up the tower. When you want us to cease fire, call it out.”

  Bravo Squad crouched behind the superstructure of the cutter as it eased up to the small floating dock at the base of the oil-rig tower. The eight men jumped to the platform and scurried up the steel ladders. Murdock motioned the cutter to back off so his men would have better targets. They then fired at anyone they could see on the tower. Whenever a Korean rifleman lifted over a beam or peered around a doorway, he was met with a dozen rounds of hot lead.

  DeWitt scrambled up to the first level and called for the cease-fire. Then he worked up cautiously, through the boring level where the drilling had stopped. On up to the areas above where there would be living quarters, a kitchen, and on levels four and five, the control rooms and offices.