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Death Blow sts-14 Page 10

by Keith Douglass


  The Nepalese man with the pistol threatened the rest of the soldiers, then fled out the door. Two guards at the front of the building had heard the shots. They saw the man rush out, his eyes wild, waving the pistol.

  They shot him four times and he died in a screaming storm of angry words and the last two shots in the pistol all aimed at the invaders.

  New York City

  United Nations Headquarters

  For the third day, the UN Security Council tried to hold a special session. Fewer then half of the thirteen delegates were at the emergency meeting. No business could be conducted, but some delegates there charged China, a permanent member, and Pakistan with butchery in their unwarranted invasion of Nepal.

  Chinese delegate Chou Kao-Feng reached for his microphone and stared hard at the other members. “I am shocked that delegates to this august body would lower themselves to use such undiplomatic language. The People’s Republic of China has for many years claimed most of the area called Nepal. We are simply taking back what was stolen from China many, many years ago. We are a peaceful people, but when our rights and our borders are threatened, we will respond with devastating effect.

  “Yes, we have used a nuclear bomb. Even as the Americans did twice in recent history. And we say as the Americans did at that time, that despite the loss of life at the target, the bomb itself has reduced the fighting and has saved thousands of lives on both sides.

  “We have welcomed our ally Pakistan in this struggle. They too have territory in the area that is under dispute with India and Nepal and have cooperated with us to settle these disputes once and for all in a way that the world can understand.”

  The session continued with each nation presenting its view on the use of the nuclear weapon against defenseless women and children.

  The delegate from China sat back and turned down the volume on his translation ear phones until he could hear only a few whispers. Then he kept his eyes open and concentrated on his small garden in his home near Nanjing where he had a fountain, several plants, a small stream, and a bridge. He concentrated so hard that his face fused into a soft smile and he was totally oblivious to everything that was happening around him. His aid would gently bring him back to the present if there was any need for him to make a comment.

  South China Sea

  John C. Stennis, CVN 74

  Captain Irving B. Robertson II glanced at the two envelopes that had come to his desk the day before. One was marked with a heavy blue line an inch wide. The other had a heavy red line just as wide. Both were inscribed: “Sealed Orders. To be opened only by order of the Chief Naval Officer by radio contact.”

  Sealed orders. The last time he had seen those had been on training exercises, but outside of that he had seen sealed orders twice in the Gulf War. They usually meant action, but action of what type here, he had no idea. The only thing he could think of was a job for the SEALs onboard his ship. Yes, it could be for the SEALs.

  He put the envelopes out of his mind and concentrated on the flight operations training drill they had in progress. They were launching F-18s, refueling them in air, and then recovering them. Drills were essential to keep every man involved sharp and sure. Every phase of the operation was important. In most of them, the smallest mistake or misjudgment, could lead to one or more instant deaths of his aviators and those on the deck. He wouldn’t allow any such mistakes to be made. Drill, drill, drill.

  It was the third day of the Nepal invasion. CCN had flown a reporter in with Chinese permission and now the world had up-to-date details on the rapid takeover of the small nation. CCN was the only media news team allowed in the area. Reports told that by the end of the third day, 90 percent of the population centers of Nepal were under China — Pakistan control. Only a few mountainous areas had not been touched, and would not be until there was some administrative need.

  The CCN feed was carried throughout the ship on TV sets and the men of the carrier were current on the war.

  Lieutenant Commander Blake Murdock and Lieutenant (j.g.) Ed DeWitt sat in the wardroom watching some bulletins. The video showed a Chinese armored personnel carrier smashing into a small army garrison in some unnamed town. The six soldiers there had been routed quickly, three killed and three captured.

  “And so it goes,” the reporter said. “China and Pakistan continue to mop up any last resistance to their invasion. One Chinese general, who I talked to this morning, said he would declare the fighting over sometime early in the evening.”

  “That’s one we missed,” Murdock said. He finished his coffee and stretched. “We had all of our workouts today, or is there one more?”

  “We’re wrapped for the day,” DeWitt said. “Eight miles this morning, then PT this afternoon followed by four more miles. The troops are sharp and ready to go anytime.”

  “Good, I’m ready for a short nap before chow.”

  “Go ahead. I have a half-finished chess game with Jefferson. He won the last one and I’m mad as hell. Well, almost. You have a good nap. I have to go play war on the chessboard.”

  The call came at 2030. Murdock and DeWitt were both in quarters, a six-man officer’s bunking area. DeWitt had answered the phone.

  “The Captain wants to see us right now,” DeWitt said. “He told me that Don Stroh would be there, too.”

  “That means we’ve got some work to do,” Murdock said. “At least I hope that’s what’s afoot.”

  Ten minutes later, the two SEALs and Don Stroh, dressed in officer’s khaki without any insignia, sat in front of the captain’s large desk. Two other officers Murdock didn’t know were present. The captain didn’t bother with introductions. Two files lay on top of it. He pointed to one.

  “Orders just came through from the Chief of Naval Operations in Washington, D.C. I have been ordered to open sealed orders that have been on my desk for two days. I talked to the CNO a half hour ago. He said he has early advice that China will invade Bangladesh at dawn tomorrow, less than eight hours from now. The president has given orders that the Bangladesh Embassy will be evacuated at the first possible moment. He said he had no idea of our distances, but that he had been assured that there had been arrangements made for U.S. military planes to land in Calcutta, India, which is only a hundred and fifty miles from the embassy in Dhaka, Bangladesh.”

  “But, Captain, if we’re still way up here by Hainan Island, we’re one hell of a long way from Calcutta,” Don Stroh said.

  The captain smiled. “Yes, we were up there. So how would we get permission for an overflight of Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, and Myanmar? That’s what we’d need if we were up there by Hainan so we could fly directly west to get to India.”

  “So what do we do?” Murdock asked.

  The captain grinned. “Didn’t tell you that ever since we hit the area around Hainan, the brass figured we would be of more value farther down south, so we’ve been sailing south along the coast of Vietnam. We’re now below Ho Chi Minh and about to turn west into the Gulf of Thailand.”

  DeWitt looked at the map of the area. “So we’re down here near the Gulf. We’re mostly south of those four countries, but not much closer to Bangladesh.”

  “Close enough,” the captain said. “The important part is we won’t get shot down trying to fly over Vietnam. They are still touchy about their airspace. We will have to overfly a small piece of Myanmar that used to be called Burma. It’s only fifty miles wide right there and we’ll be over it before they know we’re coming.”

  “We’re talking about a COD?” Murdock said.

  The man next to the captain spoke up. “Men, I’m Cresswell, the CAG. Yes, we have a COD onboard that can make the trip. It’ll be empty except for your team and should be able to do the run with no problem. Our navigator figured if we get within fifty miles of the shore on the Gulf, we should have an eight-hundred-mile run up to the tip of Bangladesh, then two hundred and eighty miles more to Calcutta. This bird will do a thousand seven hundred on ferry and we won’t be much heavier than that
. So from the hardware standpoint it’s a go.”

  “How long will it take us to get there, Captain?” Murdock asked the CAG.

  “The COD cruises at three hundred, so that means we should have a nonstop of three and a half to four hours, depending on any headwinds we hit.”

  “That’s a good-size town there in Bangladesh,” Don Stroh said. “We’ll need some directions how to find our embassy.”

  “Yes, sir,” the third man with the captain said. “We have faxes from the State Department showing pictures of the embassy building and the surrounding area. Also faxes of a list of those personnel still incountry. They did a mini-evacuation a week ago when their intelligence people said something was going to happen with China.”

  “How many left there to evacuate?” Ed DeWitt asked.

  The same man looked at his notes. “Another fax shows that there are eight and a half million people in Dhaka. The last report from the embassy said there were nineteen people to evacuate.”

  Murdock looked at the CAG. “Does the Navy have any helicopters in Calcutta? We’ll need two Sea Knights, the CH-forty-six, preferably both with door guns.”

  “That could be a problem,” the CAG said. “we have no base there of any kind. Calcutta is well inland. We do have some elements in the general area. We had a four-ship group on a goodwill tour, a pair of guided-missile destroyers and two guided-missile cruisers. They were somewhere near the Bay of Bengal, which is just below Bangladesh.” He turned to the third man, the one with the figures.

  “Johnson, check out their position and what choppers they have on board. Ask specifically about the CH-forty-sixes.”

  The man nodded and left the Captain’s cabin.

  “Would one CH-forty-six do it?” the CAG asked.

  “Specs call for it to carry twenty-five troops,” Murdock said. “Assume that’s combat ready. We’ll have fifteen combat ready, but nineteen civilians in shirt sleeves, might squeeze in under the weight, and might not. We’d prefer to have two birds.”

  “The range is no problem, a top of four hundred and twenty miles.”

  “We’ll have to take the ordnance we need from here,” DeWitt said. “Who should I see, and when are we leaving?”

  “The COD can leave anytime you’re ready,” the CAG said. “I’ll get it warmed up and the preflight done.”

  “Should be a nighttime operation,” Murdock said. “Not a chance we can make connections and get to Calcutta and into our choppers and to that town while it’s still dark. No way. So, we make it tomorrow night. We’re too far away to do it any other way.”

  “Give us more time to get some choppers flown in for you,” the captain said. “They probably won’t have door guns. You’ll have to use your own.”

  “We’ll check our team and let you know what ordinance we need. This will be a hot mission, live ammo all the way. Oh, do you have any of the laser-aimed twenty-millimeter air-burst rounds?”

  The CAG shook his head. “Read about them. You have that new rifle?”

  “Four of them,” DeWitt said. “Great for shooting guys hiding behind buildings and around corners.”

  “We’ll call you when we get the choppers tied down,” the CAG said. “We’ll try to fly three into Calcutta, so we can have two up and ready to go. We’ve got an amphib landing ship somewhere in that area. I’ll get back to you.”

  “That will be all, gentlemen,” the captain said. The SEALs and Stroh stood, turned and left the cabin.

  Outside, Murdock looked at Stroh. “Did you know about this Bangladesh caper?”

  “Yeah, but it was sealed and on the captain’s desk. Knew it might happen, not that it would. It even came through channels. Your little admiral will be pleased about that.”

  DeWitt looked to be in a hurry. “Come on, let’s get back to the men and find out what ammo we need. This could get hairy if we have to go up against those Chicoms.”

  Murdock frowned. “Chicoms? I haven’t heard that term since the Korean War.”

  “Like you were around then. That was fifty years ago.”

  “I read about it. Chinese Communists, shortened into Chicom. I like it.”

  Stroh frowned. “Let me know when you get ready to shove off. Probably around daylight sometime, I’d think. Give you more set-up time in Calcutta.”

  “Remember, Stroh, this is the mission you guaranteed us that you would come along on. I’ve got a submachine gun with your name on it.”

  Stroh started to respond, but DeWitt and Murdock turned and walked down the companionway toward the SEALs compartment. They both grinned, the look of astonishment and then fear on Stroh’s face had been reward enough. Now, they had to get a fast list of the ammo and other arms they might need.

  10

  Tijuana, Mexico

  Juan Lopez looked at the Tijuana Police Department detective and gave a small inward twitch but nothing that anyone could see. He had heard about Mad Dog Sanchez many times. This was the first time he had met him. It was said that Mad Dog had more confessions than any detective in all of Tijuana. The little border town had grown to more than a million people. Juan Lopez wanted to go right on living there and not in a cemetery.

  “Yes, yes, I told you. I go to the El Gallo Colorado sometimes. They have good food and lots of girls. That’s no crime.”

  Juan didn’t see the blow coming. It was from behind into his right kidney and he doubled over from the pain. He wanted to vomit but he knew they would make him clean it up. He sagged, then slowly stood.

  “Juan, you can make this easy. We know that you have met Chuci Hernandez many times. He also liked The Red Rooster. Now he is dead, you are alive. Curious, no?”

  “Why would I want to have anything to do with hurting Señor Hernandez?”

  “You? Not you. You only follow orders. We know you work closely with El Padre. The big man has not seen fit to help a poor policeman like me with my living expenses. We know that you set up Cuchi with some gringo hit man. We want to know who and where we can find him.”

  Juan felt his face freezing, his skin going pale. This was Mad Dog talking. He too, was acting on orders. How did Mad Dog know that he had contacted the gringo? It didn’t matter how.

  “So, you dead chicken, you ready to crow?”

  Juan looked up. “I don’t know what you’re—”

  This time he saw it coming and tried to duck. Mad Dog had been in the ring for five years. He followed the duck, hit Juan with a straight left jab and then a thundering right-hand fist that caught Juan under the chin and lifted him an inch off the floor. He had been ready for it but that didn’t help. The room lights went fuzzy, then flickered and went out.

  Juan fell to the floor of the Tijuana police interrogation room. A bucket of water sloshed over him and he cried out and then sat up.

  “Stand up, you sniveling weasel,” Mad Dog shouted. “I know you have a gringo name and a phone number. I want it, and I want it today. I don’t have a lot of patience. We might do your fingers next.”

  Mad Dog took a pair of pliers out of his pocket and worked the handles back and forth. They were well oiled and when Juan looked at them he felt a little bit of himself die. He didn’t want to die in this stinking cubicle. Where was El Padre? Who would help him?

  A man in a business suit came to the door and talked with Mad Dog for a moment. The detective snorted and scowled. Then he started to turn away. Instead of leaving he did a spinning kick and hit Juan in the belly with his boot. Juan went down again and this time he did vomit. He couldn’t help it. He was on his hands and knees when gentle hands lifted him. It was the suit.

  “Come, Juan. I just talked to the chief. No reason to hold you. Mad Dog is not pleased, but these cops seldom are unless they are paid enough. Let’s get out of here before the chief changes his mind.”

  On the sidewalk outside the police station, the two men walked away slowly. Juan set the pace. He wheezed and had trouble talking.

  The suit with the carefully knotted necktie handed Juan a
n envelope.

  “Juan, a nice vacation for you in Acapulco. El Padre says you have earned it. Two weeks and by then Mad Dog will be angry at someone else. Oh, there’s a bonus in there for you besides your tickets and hotel reservation. Sorry I didn’t get to see you yesterday.”

  The tall man in the immaculate suit moved away, stepped into a Jaguar sedan and drove down the street.

  Juan looked in the envelope, then began to run away from the police headquarters. He found a taxi and went straight to the airport. He had money and could buy whatever he needed. Juan Lopez was glad to be on his way out of Tijuana and out of the reach of Mad Dog.

  Washington, D.C.

  The White House

  General Winston P. Alexander had known the president for twenty years. Now, as chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, he was a prime adviser to the President on international military matters. They sat in the easy chairs in the Oval Office and sipped at soft drinks.

  “True, we have no defense pacts with Nepal or Bangladesh or Mongolia for that matter,” the general said. “We do have an agreement with India; however, that could be interpreted as being binding on our assistance if she is attacked.”

  “If attacked,” the president repeated. “So far she hasn’t been. I don’t think China is that stupid to take on another member of the nuclear bomb community.”

  “So for right now, the chiefs of staff suggest that we simply sit on the sidelines and see what else happens.”

  “We know that China is going into Bangladesh. Our intelligence operation is better there. Any developments on getting our embassy people out of there?”

  The general nodded, glad to have some good news for a change. “Yes, the rescue mission is under way. The SEAL team was way over in the South China Sea, so it has some travel time. As I understand it, as soon as it gets dark over there, they will be moving.”

 

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