Seal Team Seven 5 - Firestorm

by Keith Douglass

  "Damn well better not come to that," Dewitt said. He looked behind and saw that his squad was functioning according to the book. Log on shoulders, held with both hands, feet in position lock-step, marching to the same drummer.

  A little over forty-five minutes later they hit the three-and-a-half mile turnaround point and headed back. Murdock took them down to the wet sand, which was easier to march on.

  "You get soft?" Dewitt asked Murdock as he pulled up beside him.

  "Hell, no, the men are getting tired walking in that damn loose sand."

  Dewitt nodded, then frowned and stumbled. He caught himself, looking sheepishly at Murdock.

  "I'm fine, I'm fine. Just stubbed my toe."

  A moment later he stumbled again and went down to his knees. Before Murdock could yell, Doc Ellsworth had pulled out of ranks and run up to where Dewitt had dropped forward to rest on his good right hand and his knees.

  17

  Monday, November 24

  1015 hours Coronado Strand Coronado, California Doc Ellsworth dropped to both knees beside Lieutenant Dewitt. He looked at his face, then gently eased the SEAL sideways until he sat on the hard sand.

  Dewitt shook his head and rubbed his face with his right hand.

  "So damn dizzy. Can't figure it out. Where the hell am I?"

  "Sir! Lieutenant Dewitt." Doc shook his shoulder gently. "You stumbled and went down. Complained of being dizzy. Sir, do you know where you are?"

  "Damned grinder somewhere." He shook his head again, blinked, and stared at Doc. "Hi, Ellsworth, what's happening?"

  "You stumbled, sir, and fell. How are you feeling?"

  "Stumbled? Damn. Feeling? Oh, a little woozy, like a cheap drunk. What have I been drinking?"

  "Only coffee, sir. It could be the pain pills they gave you at sick call. What meds are you taking?"

  Dewitt blinked. "Pills?"

  "Yes, sir, we'll figure that out later. Just sit still." Doc turned to Murdock. "A jeep would come in handy, sir."

  Murdock looked over at his platoon, which had stopped on his curt command earlier. "Drop the logs on three. One, two, three. Nicholson. See how fast you can run up to the grinder and bring back some transport for the L-t. Anything that rolls and he can sit in. Go, go, go!"

  Nicholson had the best foot speed of anybody in the squad. He had run the 220 in high school.

  "L-T, we've got some transport coming for you," Doc said. "Just take it easy."

  Dewitt frowned and brushed the wet sand off his knees with his right hand. "What the hell am I doing sitting in this fucking wet sand? Doc, answer me. Why am I sitting here?"

  "You had a dizzy spell, Sir. Almost passed out. I'd guess it's a reaction to some of the meds sick bay gave you. What are you taking?"

  "Don't know. Said three a day so I'm taking three a day. Bottle is in my quarters."

  Murdock had been listening. He straightened up and looked at his Platoon Chief. "Jaybird. Get those logs hoisted to shoulders and take the troops back to the toothpick pile. Then fall out around the tower climb. If nobody is on it, put each man up five times. We'll be along as soon as we can."

  Twenty minutes later, Nicholson came racing down the wet sand in a white Shore Patrol Van with the red light on the top blinking. The rig eased up to them and stopped three feet from Dewitt.

  "Let's try to stand up, L-T," Doc said.

  "Hell, I can stand up." Dewitt tried, almost made it. Then Murdock caught one arm and Doc the other and they helped him take three steps to the van door and slide into the front seat.

  Murdock fastened the seat belt around his 2IC. "Drive easy going back, sailor," Murdock told the Shore Patrol behind the wheel. Doc climbed in the back seat.

  "Yeah, easy as it goes," Doc said. "I want the L-T in one piece when we get to the infirmary."

  Red Nicholson and Murdock watched the van cut across the soft sand to the highway, turn left, and head toward SEAL headquarters. Nicholson and Murdock began double-timing along the hard sand.

  "Is the L-T bad off?" Nicholson asked.

  "Not sure. Might just be a reaction to some of the pain medication. At least I hope that's it. That damn broken arm is giving him fits."

  Murdock met his men at the tower climb. All the SEALS had done two climbs. He watched them do three more, then had the troops do twenty push-ups with him leading them.

  That was when Murdock remembered the three men he had called over to interview at 1100 hours. It was almost 11 30 hours. They would still be there. He turned the platoon over to Jaybird, and told him to get them to mess and have them ready at 1400 hours with cammies and floppy hats. Jaybird nodded.

  Murdock took off at a ground-eating lope across the highway to his office. The three SEALS in garrison cammies sat on chairs just inside Jaybird's office. They jumped to attention when Murdock came through the door.

  "Reporting to the lieutenant as ordered, sir!" one man said.

  Murdock recognized him from his picture and the fact that he was at least six feet four.

  "Ronson, into my office. I'll be with you other two in short order."

  He paused to get some breath back. "Bishop, Ching, glad you showed up. Relax."

  Ronson followed Murdock into his office, and the other two SEALS sat down.

  Murdock liked the looks of Ronson on first sight. He was big, he was rugged-looking, even with his shirt on. He could pack a Mcmillan .50 if he had to.

  Ronson sat stiffly in the visitor's chair.

  "Relax, sailor, you're among friends. You have your trident, I see. How long in SEALS?"

  "Three years, Sir. I was with SEAL Team Three, but caught a slug and took some Balboa time. They filled my slot, so I've been unassigned for a while."

  "Ever handled a Mcmillan fifty?"

  Ronson's eyes lit up and he grinned. He relaxed then and nodded. "Yes, sir. Sweetheart of a weapon. My favorite. Course I like the M-60 too, along with a thousand rounds. I was the AW man with Three. I hear Seven has the new HK 21A1 machine gun. It's a beauty. I fired it once in training. Damn things never break down."

  "You married, Ronson?"

  "No, sir."

  "Your nickname is Horse?"

  "Right. But I really can't carry that much." They both laughed.

  "Ronson, how would you like to get into Platoon Three of SEAL Seven?

  We're on call by some heavy hitters and just lost three men wounded on our last social visit. You'll get all the action you want with us."

  "Like to be with you, sir. Heard good things about Seven."

  "I'll send the paperwork through this afternoon. Get your gear ready to move into the Platoon Three of Seven rest home."

  "Aye, aye, sir!"

  "On your way out, tell Ching to come in."

  Ronson hurried out with a grin as wide as an IBS paddle.

  Murdock talked to the other two men. They looked as good in person as they had on the personnel sheet. He signed them on and then put a call into the small infirmary they had on base. He went through two nurses, then got the doctor who had just seen Ed Dewitt.

  "Nothing serious, Lieutenant. Looks like those pills he was taking dehydrated him. That walk in the sun didn't help matters. I've changed his medication and put him on light duty for a week. See if you can get him to take a leave for a week."

  "Good idea, Doc, I'll do just that. Thanks for the good news."

  He hung up and tried to figure how he could discourage Dewitt from taking part in as much training as he wanted to. He shuffled some papers on his desk, then had an idea.

  The brass had not been pleased with the amount of equipment and weapons they'd lost and written off as combat casualties in Lebanon. Commander Dean Masciarelli, the CO of Team Seven, wanted some better explanations than the formal ones that Jaybird had sent through channels after their mission.

  Just the small task for Lieutenant Dewitt to take care of this afternoon.

  He looked at some of the paperwork on his desk and gave up. He called Navy Special Warfare Unit One, go
t through to personnel, and asked to have the three SEALS he'd interviewed transferred to Team Seven Third Platoon at once. Chief Murphy there knew Murdock, and said he'd cut the orders and send over a personnel request form for Murdock to fill out and get back to him yesterday.

  While he was talking on the phone, Dewitt came in and slumped in the chair beside Murdock's desk. Murdock hung up.

  "So, when's the funeral?" Murdock asked.

  "No funeral, just some damn pills that dehydrated me to hell and gone. I'm fine now. Fit for duty."

  Murdock nodded. "Good. I've got something here that has to be taken care of today. Masciarelli didn't like our 'loss during combat' report. I want you to go over there and explain it to him, item by item. We save the fucking treasury a few hundred thousand million in counterfeit hundred-dollar bills and Masciarelli is worried about a thousand-dollar weapon or two."

  "Figured Jaybird sent that report in," Dewitt said.

  "He did, but Masciarelli has forgotten his days on the grinder. He's getting officerfied. Go over there this afternoon and stroke him and placate him and explain any aspect of the mission he doesn't understand. You can do it. He'll believe it coming from you even if you say the same things that Jaybird wrote."

  "Right after the swim?"

  "Who said anything about a swim?"

  "Figures. I know how you think. We did that seven miles with the log this morning. You'll want to really stretch these guys with a five-mile swim in the bay."

  "Not a chance. It's a ten-miler in the ocean. We'll go from here to Zuniga Point on the tip of North Island and back."

  "That's only seven miles, Boss. I've made that swim too often."

  "So I'm mellowing in my old age. It's a seven-mile swim. Enough for a warmup, especially with a four-knot tide working to the north."

  "Just as glad I'm not going. You have a copy of Jaybird's report?"

  Murdock handed him the three pages.

  "Did you get me an appointment with the old man or do I just drop by?"

  "I'd call him and set it up. He's getting very Navy all of a sudden."

  "I'll win this one for the Gipper."

  "You didn't even play football."

  "Is that what the Gipper is all about? Damn me."

  Jaybird slipped in the door with a cold Coke and a pair of hamburgers and put them in front of Murdock.

  "Figured you didn't get any chow, Skipper. Don't want you to pass out on our swim this afternoon."

  "Who said anything about a swim?"

  "Nobody. Just figures. How far?"

  "Point Zuniga round trip."

  "Good, I was figuring ten miles. You still want the troops ready at 1400?"

  "Yeah, right. That'll give my burgers time to digest."

  Lieutenant Edward Dewitt brushed his flattop with his good right hand and stared hard at Murdock. Then he chuckled.

  "You set me up, didn't you?"

  Murdock laughed and flipped him a French fry he had found with his burgers. "Yeah. A habit. Comes with the stripe. That Seattle ticket is still open, on me."

  Dewitt took a long breath. He crinkled his brow, then shook his head. "Fuck no, I'm having too much fun here."

  18

  Monday, November 24

  1510 hours Pacific Ocean Off Coronado, California Murdock broke off the swim at two miles and before they reached the announced halfway goal of Zuniga Point on the far end of North Island. The SEALS had entered the water wearing their cammies, masks, and flippers. Murdock led them at an even stroke knowing precisely how fast to swim to cover a mile in thirty-five minutes.

  After two miles he signaled for a halt and turned the men around.

  "Jaybird, take the con, lead us back to the home beach in exactly an hour and ten minutes."

  "That's a roger, sir." Jaybird was not the best swimmer in the platoon, but now it didn't matter. The men would move at the pace he set. A light breeze had picked up and the ocean showed an occasional whitecap. The water was not summer-warm yet--about sixty degrees, Murdock figured. It had often been much colder. Top summer sunshine might boom it to sixty-nine or seventy-four degrees, but that would be the top of the scale.

  Open-ocean swimming is not easy with the swells and the current. Now the small chop and the whitecaps made it that much tougher. "Remember that four-knot current we'll be going against," Murdock told Jaybird. The Platoon Chief waved and struck out for the distant shoreline just off the SEAL training base.

  They had stayed on top of the water since they didn't have any breathing gear. Once they came to a small school of eight-inch jelly fish, their long arms trailing into the water.

  Jaybird slanted them around the hundred or so creatures. They weren't the hard-stinging kind, but could bring a welt.

  Once, looking seaward, Murdock saw a half-dozen Pacific porpoises jumping and playing around the hull of a two-masted sailing ship.

  Nothing else distracted the SEALS from a relaxing afternoon swim in the bright blue Pacific Ocean.

  Jaybird led them up the beach across from the grinder, and Murdock checked his watch.

  "You're two minutes early, Jaybird. Guess it's better to be early rather than late. On a hot mission what would you have done?"

  Jaybird took off his mask and picked up his flippers. "On a mission I would have checked my time of arrival. If I was early, I'd have kept the platoon at least five hundred meters offshore and waited for the exact time to hit the beach."

  "Good. Now, the rest of the day is free. Tomorrow we really get down to the business of training. We should have the three new men we talked about. If all goes well, they should report in tonight. Get them set up with gear and equipment."

  "Yes, sir. What's up for tomorrow?"

  "A surprise, Platoon Chief, even for you. Arrange with the mess for a patrol-type full breakfast for the platoon at 0430. We'll be in transport by 0530."

  The Third Platoon formed up in two squads and double-timed across the sand and into SEAL country. Murdock found Ed Dewitt waiting for him in his office.

  "Those three replacements are here. I sent them over to supply. Master Chief Mackenzie said Jaybird would get them outfitted when he got back. Is that Chinese guy the linguist?"

  "He is. He speaks a whole pot full of languages. I just wish he knew Arabic. I figure we're going to have some more Near Eastern time before long. You like the looks of the three?"

  "I do. Especially the big guy, Ronson. He going to be the HW man?"

  "How did you guess? How are you feeling? Any more dizziness?"

  "No. I just got the wrong meds. Fit for duty. What's on for tomorrow?"

  Murdock took a sheet of paper from the top drawer of his desk and handed it to his second in command. Dewitt read the first few lines and then scanned it.

  "We're back in Hell Week, only it's for just two days," Dewitt said.

  "You want to come along? You do everything the rest of us do including the survival drill."

  Dewitt read the paper again. Slowly he shook his head. "I can't make it through all those exercises and tests and drills with this damn broken arm."

  "True. You want that week's leave or should I put through a light-duty form for you?"

  "You cleared this training with the Commander?"

  "No. The facility is not being used for the next three days. I reserved two of them. We leave at 0530 tomorrow."

  "Masciarelli is not going to be thrilled, as you know."

  "Keeping my platoon in top condition is my responsibility. I checked with the motor pool and we'll have a twenty-passenger bus ready and waiting."

  Dewitt squirmed in his chair.

  Murdock took three pills from the plastic bottle on his desk and downed them with some lukewarm coffee. He looked at his friend and combat buddy. "So, which way are you going?"

  "Seattle for four days. About all I'll be able to stand. Then I'll be back here and working out with you whenever I can do the drill."

  "Done. Master Chief Mackenzie will take care of your leave and your tran
sport. Have a good visit with the family."

  "I'll try. Provided you get the rest of that shrapnel out of your ass so we don't have to call you Old Ironbutt anymore."

  Tuesday, November 25

  0900 hours Chocolate Mountain Gunnery Range Niland, California The twenty-seat bus had rolled out of SEAL country at 0528 the following morning with all fifteen SEALS of Third Platoon on board. Murdock had had to go to the CO of the motor pool to get permission for Red Nicholson to drive the bus. He had a military driver's license, and said he used to drive a school bus.

  They had loaded up the rig with all of the ammo, weapons, and gear they would need for their two-day stay. There was plenty of field rations and supplies, but no blankets or sleeping bags. The men had noticed that up front.

  "What the hell is this, fucking Hell Week all over again?" Martin "Magic" Brown had asked, his black face more curious than angry.

  "How do you get a week jammed into two days?" Ron Holt had asked.

  "With a fucking SEAL shoehorn," Jaybird had screeched, and they all had laughed.

  The bus had rolled down the Silver Strand highway into Coronado. Murdock got mad when anyone called it Coronado Island. Even some of the people who lived there called it an island. They should have known better. Radio and TV newscasters were always calling it Coronado Island. Actually, it is a large bulge on the end of a long narrow strip of land that encloses San Diego Bay and is called the Silver Strand. Technically Coronado is on the end of a peninsula. A peninsula is described as a portion of land nearly surrounded by water and connected to a larger land mass by an isthmus. An isthmus is a narrow strip of land connecting two larger land masses. Murdock had long ago given up correcting people aboutcoronado. It irritated him, and he made sure that his men knew the difference, but he'd given up on the rest of the English-speaking world.

  The bus had gone across the graceful Coronado-San Diego Bay Bridge, turned south on Interstate 5, and then slanted off on California Highway 15 north toward Interstate 8. Once on 8, the bus had nosed east heading for the desert.

  "We going to the fucking desert?" Jaybird had asked.

  "Now that you mention it, why don't we?" Murdock had rasped. "You guys haven't had a shot at the Chocolate Mountains in months now."

  "I'm getting thirsty already," Ross Lincoln had said.