Death Blow sts-14

by Keith Douglass

  “What if we cut the amount in half at each spot, set them off in a pattern, not all at once, so it would seem more like the real thing?” Jaybird asked.

  The captain looked at Murdock.

  “Sounds interesting, sir. We haven’t had time to do any planning on this.”

  “Let’s do it now. The floor is open.”

  Murdock looked at the captain, he was serious. He turned to DeWitt. “Ed, will we need anything that can’t be detonated with a radio signal?”

  “No, there should be forty-eight point timers on board. Two sets would give us ninety-six. We string the charges in sequences of five to each frequency.”

  “What about rockets without warheads, to slam over the border and into Nepal but no bang on the other end?” Jaybird asked.

  “Yeah, I like it,” one of the captains said.

  “Machine gun fire on tape played over loud speakers,” Murdock said. “We can throw in dozens of explosions, too. We time the whole thing for a half hour.”

  “Space out the heavy explosions?” Captain Robertson asked.

  “That would help us play out the half hour,” Murdock said. “Give them time to listen and make some reports to China GHQ in Katmandu.”

  “We don’t have that kind of explosives onboard,” the third Captain said. “We can’t use our usual ordnance, too much risk of bomb fragments.”

  “Dig up what black powder you have, C-four and C-five,” Murdock said. “Wish we had a battle wagon around. The sacks of powder on those big guns would be about right.” He frowned.

  “So, we gather up all the safe explosives you have here, get shipments from the other ships in your fleet, and then ask India to supply us with the difference, three or four tons of dynamite.”

  Ed DeWitt sat there shaking his head. “Captain, this is too big, too long, too many chances for foulups. We can do the same thing with a quarter-mile-long front. Get the point across. Cut our powder needs to three tons and still have all the generators and loud speakers we need to ram the point across the border.”

  “How many speakers?” Jaybird asked.

  “Four and four generators,” DeWitt said. “Do the job. We set the charges, work them in sequence through the half hour. We’ll have a hundred charges, set every one hundred ten feet apart.”

  Captain Robertson looked at Murdock. “You go along with the shorter field?”

  “Yes. Fits better. We’ll still need twenty Marines to help us lug and tote. We’ll need trucks to haul the men and explosives up to the front.”

  “What about Indian approval?” Jaybird asked.

  “This was their idea,” the carrier skipper said. “They said they will cooperate with us in any way they can. They have a spot picked out, two hundred and seventy miles from Calcutta on one of few roads that crosses the border.”

  “Timing,” Murdock said.

  “We’ll ask Calcutta to furnish the three tons of powder and let them drive it north. Give them two days. By then we’ll have the SEALs and twenty Marines on hand in Calcutta. You’ll fly up in choppers we’ll bring to Calcutta from our ships offshore.”

  “We set up one night, then set them off as soon as it’s dark the next night,” Murdock said.

  “Generators and speakers?” DeWitt asked.

  “We can furnish those from the carrier. Send them in the COD with the SEALs,” one of the Captains said.

  Stroh listened to the plan, made some notes.

  “This was Indian Intelligence’s idea. I’ll coordinate it with them. They said they could furnish us with most of what we need if we ramrod it. Timing?”

  “As soon as you can set it up,” Captain Robertson said. “We’ll have the SEALs and Marines from one of the ships down there in Calcutta by noon tomorrow.”

  “Mr. Stroh,” Jaybird said. “Don’t forget we’ll need radio detonators, a radio signal board for one hundred, and all the other material for the radio detonation.”

  “Yeah, Jaybird. Coming up.” He nodded at the captain and hurried out of the room.

  “Captain, we’ll be ready to get on the COD on two-hour notice,” Murdock said. “You said sometime about daylight?”

  “Right, Commander. You’ve made the run before. This time I think we’ll leave you in Calcutta for a while. Cheaper than flying you back and forth.”

  A half hour later in their SEAL compartment, DeWitt had just finished briefing the rest of the men about the job coming up.

  “So that’s it, a no-sweat, no-return-fire kind of operation. We should be scaring any border guards pissless up there on the front line. As soon as the show is over, we pick up our toys and go back to Calcutta.”

  “We don’t do any small arms work ourselves?” Howie Anderson asked. “Damn be a good time to knock over some Chinkomen.”

  “They might not even have border guards up at that point,” Murdock said. “India picked out the target.”

  A messenger came into the room and looked around, went up to the nearest SEAL and asked him a question. Canzoneri pointed the messenger to Murdock.

  The sailor handed Murdock an envelope, and hurried away.

  Murdock frowned, opened the sealed business-size envelope and took out the paper. It was a radio message. He read it quickly. His face sagged and his eyes closed for a moment. No reason to tell the men just before a mission. At once he changed his mind. There also was no reason not to tell them.

  “Hey, gather around.” He waited for the men to come up in a group around him.

  “Just received a radio message from Master Chief Petty Officer Gordon MacKenzie. It reads: ‘Regret to inform you that Nancy Dobler killed herself in her home Tuesday night. She had just been released on bail from police custody after her DUI auto wreck where a young man was killed. She was charged with second degree murder. Will Dobler is devastated. More to follow.’ ”

  22

  Coronado, California

  Detective Sergeant Mad Dog Sanchez sat in his rented car across the street and down three cars from the apartment where the gringo killer lived. A secretary in the lieutenant’s office who spoke perfect English had made the contact for him on an extremely secretive basis. Her brother could be pulled in on drug charges at any time. Sanchez was sure that she would not tell anyone she made the call.

  The San Diego Police had been most helpful with the telephone number and the address it produced. They also had confirmed the name of the man who lived there, Howard Anderson.

  Now it was simply a matter of waiting. Twice now he had come to San Diego through the international port of entry. It was easy. Twice he had waited all day and all night but no one appeared at the apartment. He could not make inquiries at the adjacent areas. Someone would remember. It could take him half a dozen trips on his days off, but he would find this gringo killer.

  Now he ate the tacos he had bought from a stand downtown. Coronado was a small place across a long bridge from San Diego. He ate the second taco and thought it through again. The prostitute at the cantina had given him the phone number. He had the right name now and the address. All he could do was wait. But he must remain invisible. No one must remember him. He rented a different car for each trip and parked in a different spot. Sooner or later he would find the man. Detective Sergeant Sanchez settled down for a long wait. He was good at this. He would win in the long run.

  * * *

  Six blocks away on another Coronado street, Will Dobler sat with his arms around his two children. Helen had not recovered from the shock of finding her mother. That afternoon she had run from the house to a neighbor’s place screaming all the way. The woman there had checked, then called the police. There was no need for an ambulance, she knew.

  Helen whimpered and burrowed against her father, trying to gain from him some confidence, some reassurance. She looked up at him and asked the question she had asked him dozens of times.

  “Why, Daddy. Why did Mom do that?”

  He shook his head and hugged her tightly. “I’m not sure, honey. I just don’t know
. I wish I did.” She whimpered again, and shivered, then relaxed against him.

  Charlie was in better shape. He put up with the group hug but he wasn’t all that thrilled with it. He had cried when he found out about his mother, but had recovered well in two days.

  Will hadn’t figured out how he felt yet. He’d been too busy making arrangements and taking care of the kids. Maria Fernandez and Milly had been tremendously solid friends helping him. The kids insisted on staying in the house. Helen refused to use the downstairs bathroom where she had found her mother. Late at night when the kids had finally gone to sleep, Will paced the living room. Sometimes he went out and walked with his crutches around the block as well as he could. Several times he had cursed the Navy, and the SEALs. It was their fault. The whole damned Navy had caused this. He should have seen it coming. He knew Nancy was on a teetering edge. But she’d been there before. His leg wound had been the clincher, he decided. It had been just enough to blow her over the edge. Maria said she thought that Nancy had taken the news that Will had been wounded extremely well. She hadn’t even cried. But then after they left each other she must have splintered into a thousand pieces and gone back to her one friend who never let her down, alcohol. Will doubled up his fists and punched the air.

  “It’s the god-damned Navy’s fault. The fucking Navy has done this to my family. Gonna ask for a hardship discharge and get as far away from Navy people as I can. Move out of Coronado for damn sure.” He said the words out loud not caring if anyone heard. He snorted. He’d decided to move a dozen times in the last two days. He was so confused and angry and overwhelmed that he didn’t know what the hell he was thinking. Give it some time, his friends told him. Yeah, some friends. Cremation. He and Nancy had decided on that a long time ago. Death was the end. Yes, they both believed that. No heaven, no loved ones waiting for you “on the other side.” You had life and when it was over, it was over. No afterlife. What a ridiculous idea perpetrated by religion for it’s own ends. Now he was a fucking philosophy major, for Chris’ sake. He was really going off the deep end.

  Will wondered how the Platoon was doing. Would it have a new mission? What the hell could the men do against China, anyway? Too damn big, too many men, too many people.

  He looked at the TV set and turned it on. Maybe there was a good war movie on. Yeah, Bataan or Battle of the Bulge or even a good John Wayne flick. He began surfing the channels with the beeper. Tomorrow he had to take Helen in to see that shrink. A Navy guy who had called him and volunteered. Damn nice of him. Helen was taking this the hardest.

  Damn car wreck. If she hadn’t killed that kid, she would have been okay. Beat up and angry, and doing some jail time, but alive. Yeah, alive and getting better. Sometimes he figured they had the damn suicide thing whipped; then she would remember her dad and how he had abused her when she was just ten, and the whole fucking thing flooded back and she would be out of it for a week or more. How could a father do that to a kid, to his own kid? He’d never know. God, he missed Nancy already. What was it going to be like in a week, then a month, then a year? Damn. He decided to walk around the block again. Wear off some of the tension, maybe get tired enough to sleep three or four hours. At least he hoped so.

  Calcutta, India

  It took three days to put together all the elements of the “invasion” package. They had to have a TV studio in Calcutta make up the reel-to-reel tape for of the machine gun fire, combat explosions, and aircraft roaring past. That held them up a day.

  The explosives were another problem. India at last rounded up enough 20 percent dynamite and some black powder from field guns to do the job. The trucks took another day to transport everything to the small village of Jogbani close to the border with Nepal.

  The SEALs and Marines landed from choppers an hour after the trucks arrived in the village. It was dusk, and Murdock began assigning tasks and moving people and explosives. It took four hours to get the explosives set out in the quarter-mile arc aimed at Nepal. Then Jaybird went to each cache and put in the radio-controlled detonator. He had only a forty-eight-frequency board, so he put two detonators with similar frequencies in nearby stacks of explosives. They were simply placed on the ground in the open to give the loudest and most dramatic effect. By 2200 they were ready.

  Howard Anderson took care of the sound equipment. He set up the speakers, aimed them, checked over the electric generators, and fired them up to be sure the gasoline engines would start. It was all wrapped up by 2400 and Murdock sent the men into a field to sack out. He had tight security around the whole complex, and Jaybird would sleep with his detonator broadcaster.

  A half hour after they stood down, a jeep rolled into the area and an Indian Army General stepped out and asked to see whoever was in charge. Murdock was called, and he came with Don Stroh who was along for the ride.

  “Commander, I’m General Gaya Chhapra. I have been ordered by my commander-in-chief that the diversion you plan here should go ahead at once and not wait until tomorrow night. It’s been too long now. Can you get the operation started within a half hour?”

  Murdock frowned. “Yes, General. I’m not sure who has command of this operation from a start/stop standpoint. However, I don’t see any reason not to do it now. Please stand by and watch, then you can report back.”

  Murdock found Jaybird who roused the rest of the SEALs who had operational jobs, and he dug out his firing board. The gas engines sputtered into life and came up to speed. Jaybird told Murdock on the Motorola that he was ready.

  “Start the loud speakers,” Murdock said on the net and the four speakers began blasting out machine gun fire and all kinds of attack sounds including big guns, tanks, and aircraft.

  “Fire at will, Jaybird,” Murdock ordered.

  The first two explosions rocked the countryside. All those who could move lifted up and ran to the rear to be away from the rest of the real-life explosions. Jaybird worked his firing board like a symphony orchestra, some on the right, then the left and some in the middle. He spread them out but his last charge went off at a little before the twenty-minute mark. Murdock let the loud speakers roll for ten minutes more, then shut them down.

  The silence was deafening.

  “Wow, is it quiet out here in the country,” Ostercamp said. The others agreed with him.

  “Let’s get this place cleaned up and get out of here,” Murdock said. There wasn’t much to clean up: A few wooden explosive cases, the PA systems and generators to recover and put on the truck.

  Lam ran up to Murdock. “We’ve got company coming from across the border,” Lam said. “A jeep and a truck. About a quarter of a mile off.”

  “SEALs on me with your weapons and live rounds. We’re moving out to find some line crossers.”

  The Marines had their weapons but no ammunition. Murdock’s thirteen men assembled quickly and they took off at a trot toward the Nepal border. They had their usual mix of weapons, with one EAR and only one Bull Pup.

  They jogged for three hundred yards and went to ground. Murdock crawled up to Lam who had signaled the laydown.

  “Right over there, skipper,” Lam said, pointing with his MP5 submachine gun. Murdock took a look. In the wavering moonlight he saw what had to be a dozen men dropping off a six-by type truck with canvas top.

  “Move up both squads in a line of skirmishers. I’m thirty yards ahead of you. We have fifteen to twenty visitors. Keep it quiet.”

  Murdock watched the Chinese infantrymen ahead of him fifty yards as they gathered together while someone talked to them. Murdock was tempted to have the two of them fire while the Chinese were bunched up, but he waited.

  The Chinese had just started to spread out when Jaybird hit his Motorola.

  “We’re ready, Skip, we see the targets.”

  “Open fire,” Murdock said. Fourteen guns blazed in the night sky. Half of the enemy troops went down with the first few rounds from each weapon, then the firing tapered off as targets became scarcer.

  Murdock had t
he one Bull Pup. He put two 20mm rounds into the six-by truck and saw it catch fire. The jeep ahead pulled away, but Murdock tracked it and sent one round into the engine, jolting it to a stop.

  “Cease fire,” Murdock said into the mike and the guns went silent.

  “Don’t hear a fucking thing out there,” Lam said. “Must be a few of them still on their feet.”

  “We take any return fire?” Murdock asked on the net.

  “Didn’t see any muzzle flashes,” Fernandez said. “They were too worried about getting out of there.”

  “Anybody wounded?” Murdock asked.

  There were no responses. “Okay, let’s haul ass out of here. No formation, just filter back to where we left the trucks.”

  Five minutes later they loaded in the trucks, yelled at the Marines to get onboard and the whole “invasion” force moved out for the short drive back into the village. The trucks stopped and Murdock spoke with the Indian liaison officer who had been talking to the locals who were concerned that the Nepal war had spilled over into their village.

  “I have most of the locals calmed down,” the Indian Army captain said in a severe almost-English accent. “We don’t have any accommodations for your men, but you can bivouac in a small field just outside of town. We’ll get the choppers here for you in the morning for your return flight.” The officer paused. “I’d say you chaps did quite well tonight. Must have scared hell out of those Chinese forces nearby and will give the command generals something to worry about.”

  The Marines bitched about the arrangement until one of their top sergeants chewed out the lot of them, then they settled down.

  DeWitt put out two guards for their section of the field and the SEALs nodded off.

  Murdock looked up, surprised by the Indian jeep that pulled up and Don Stroh stepped out into the moonlight.

  “Thought you were talking with the folks in Calcutta,” Murdock said.

  “Well, I was, then we had a few signals come through, one right from the CNO himself. While you boys been pissing into the wind down here, there’s been a real wild one going on up at the Indian corridor into Bangladesh. India shot down three more Chicom transports. MiGs have shot down four Indian fighters. The U.S. has sent a squadron of Tomcats to the military field near Calcutta, and they have flown thirty-four sorties, watching for MiGs. This morning one of the Tomcats was shot down over the edge of China. We have a pinpoint location of the two men who jumped and neither one is hurt. They’re hiding.