The SEALs ducked below the dune.
Canzoneri walked the explosions up the display half mile. As one died down, he triggered the next one.
“Incoming!” somebody shouted.
One of the missiles launched itself and made a winding trail a hundred feet into the air, then slammed straight at the SEALs but kept the altitude and went all the way into the Gulf of Oman, where it detonated.
Now they could see other missiles bouncing across the land. In flashes of light they saw the tents burn away, saw one six-by truck explode, and the fuel from the tank set two other trucks on fire.
The jet fighter went up in a huge mushroom cloud as the aviation fuel exploded, showering blazing JP-3 over a hundred yards of displays.
Two minutes after Canzoneri triggered the first bomb, the last section exploded in a roiling gush of flames and nearly white-hot light. The 105 artillery shells detonated with withering karumph sounds and dirt, tents, and displays flew every which way.
“Holt,” Murdock bellowed. “Get your big ears on, we’re hauling ass now. Move it, everyone. Straight for the wet. We get SATCOM going before then. We’re bound to have company soon.”
“Captain, we’ve got some trouble.” It was Jaybird.
Murdock caught the message in his earpiece. “What, Jaybird?”
“Spotted a vehicle with lights on patrolling behind us. He made two circles, then stopped and conferred with three men in front of his headlights.”
“So?”
“I used my glasses and I saw him use a radio, a handi-talki type. My bet is he called for some more troops or maybe some air support to work this area.”
“Possible. We keep moving, we should be wet before they can find us. Holt, where’s the damn SATCOM?”
“Need to stop a minute and get the antenna aimed,” Holt said. “Take about two minutes. Can we do that?”
“Hold it, troops,” Murdock said on the radio. “Move to the reverse slope of this small dune so we’re out of sight of the blast. For a few minutes it’s SATCOM time.”
They stopped behind the dune. Jaybird crawled up so he could watch the smoke and destruction of a few million dollars’ worth of useless rubble. Holt aimed the antenna and passed the handset to Murdock.
“Set for voice, Commander.”
He hit the Send button. “Floater, this is Petard. Read me?”
They waited a moment. It stretched out. He sent out the message again. On the third try, someone replied.
“Petard, this is Floater. You’re early.”
“Change in plans. Blew the field early. We nailed the whole half mile. Nothing left out there but smoking rubble. They had the army guarding the place. Total destruction. Rounds still exploding. On our way for a swim. Time is 0115. Need a wet pickup in thirty minutes.”
“Understand. Stay dry if possible for now. Will reply in five.”
Murdock gave the handset back to Holt. He still marveled at the SATCOM system. The SATCOM radio worked with the Milstar satellite in geosynchronous orbit 22,300 miles over the equator. It was officially the AN/PRC-117D, and it weighed fifteen pounds and was only fifteen inches long and three inches square. It had voice, data, or video transmission capability and could squirt out an encoded message in a hundredth of a second, foiling any enemy trying to triangulate its position. It could broadcast at a strong 10 watts of power for longer range or drop down to.1 watt for short distances and dangerous situations.
“Commander, we may have some trouble,” Jaybird said. He had taken the NVGs to watch the blast scene. Murdock went up to the top of the dune and looked over. Murdock saw a line of four six-by trucks on their side of the destruction. One truck stopped every hundred yards and dropped off ten men, then moved on.
Lam moved up to the top of the dune with the other NVGs. “Three trucks, twenty men to a truck, about sixty of them,” Lam said.
As they watched, they saw the men fan out in a line of skirmishers in a perimeter defense pointing at the SEALs. The Iranian soldiers went prone and some began digging in with entrenching tools.
“Too little, too late,” Murdock said into his mike. “Nothing to guard anymore.” Murdock took out his field glasses and scanned the ruins before him. He saw the shells of six trucks, both the blown-apart jet fighters, and skeletons of other equipment that had all been blasted and burned beyond any possible use. He looked at Holt.
“Holt, how long has it been since their last transmission?” Murdock asked.
Holt checked his wristwatch with the timer. “Two minutes, sir.”
“Yeah, it goes fast when you’re having fun.”
Nobody heard the visitors until they were almost overhead. Then two Iranian jet fighters thundered across the scene. They came in at less than three hundred feet and scattered the smoke and ashes in the display. They made sharp turns and returned with throttles back for a slower look, then raced away to the north.
“They must have been baby-sitting the display, watching for any kind of an air attack,” Murdock said.
“Commander, we’ve got company,” Senior Chief Dobler’s heavy voice said on the Motorola.
“Where and how many?” Murdock asked.
“Coming around the end of the display. Still about five hundred yards away, but they’re heading straight for us. Two armored personnel carriers.”
“I see them,” Murdock said. “Must be doing thirty miles an hour. Bradford, you see them with your fifty?”
“Lined up in my sights with armor piercing, Cap’n. Locked and loaded.”
“Take them.”
The heavy crack of the big .50-caliber McMillan M-87R sniper rifle blasted into the darkness of the Iranian coastal desert. The first round was followed by four more. The second heavy AP slug bored through a chink in the front armament and splashed the radiator and continued into the engine itself before it exploded, shredding wires and lines, dumping the vehicle to the side, dead on the sand.
The second vehicle came closer. Two .50-caliber rounds on the driver’s section made the rig veer to the left, but it kept coming. The fully tracked vehicle looked like a small tank. Inside, it could carry eight to ten fully equipped combat infantrymen.
Men sprayed out of the downed machine. They were 300 yards away.
“Let’s take them down,” Murdock said.
Up and down the line of SEALs, the carbines spoke along with the two machine guns and sniper rifles. Within ten seconds, the last of the ten Iranian soldiers spun and died in the sand from the accurate fire by the SEALs.
The second rig kept coming, angling now directly at where the firing had erupted against it. The rig had one exterior-mounted machine gun. Murdock figured it was a 12.7mm, which could do the SEALs a great deal of damage.
“Make up some impact bombs with your TNAZ,” Murdock said into the lip mike. “Tape the impact fuses around the quarter-pound chunks. We need to blow that sucker’s tracks off.”
The AP carrier continued for the center of the SEALs’ line but slowed and stopped when it was fifty yards off. Bradford had fired five more times at the rig but couldn’t find a weak spot that his rounds would penetrate. He saw three of them bounce off the slanted armor.
“What the hell’s he doing?” Jaybird asked on the Motorola.
“What would you be doing?” Senior Chief Dobler asked.
“Hell, I’d be wanting to know what was behind these dunes. Who my enemy was and his strength and weaponry.”
“About what he’s up to,” Murdock said. “Maybe waiting for some help. He could call those jets back to make a strafing run. Now they know where the target is. Spread out, twenty yards between us. Holt. Get your electronic ass up here.”
Holt had the SATCOM ready to go when he slid in beside Murdock and gave him the handset.
“Set for voice,” Holt said.
Murdock took the mike and let out a deep breath. “Petard here. We’ve had visitors. Now more are showing up. Your five minutes are wasted. Time we got wet. Any air support over here? Come back.”<
br />
The transmission went out in a thousandth of a second in a burst that was impossible to trace.
To Murdock’s surprise, an answer came back at once.
“Floater says no chance of any friendly air. Get out of there as soon as practical. Wet pickup will be ready in thirty.”
As they spoke, Murdock saw more Iranian army troops come from in back of the ruined display, form up into twenty squads of spread-out infantry, and begin a slow march toward the dead armored personnel carrier only fifty yards from the SEALs’ cover.
“More company,” Lam said. “Looks to be about a hundred and forty of them, all small arms, no heavy stuff or MGs. They have five hundred yards to go to get to the armored rig.” He could barely see them through the pale darkness.
Just then, the Iranian jets paid another call. This time they were only 200 feet over the ground. The SEALs felt the wind whiplash around them as the jets sucked the air after them.
Murdock scowled. “In about fifteen minutes, we’re going to have more trouble than we need. A hundred and forty troops with a mad on, one machine gun on that AP carrier, and those two damn jets rigged for air-to-ground fire.”
Jaybird grunted. “Yeah, but then that’s about our usual odds. Looks fairly simple to me. We take out the ground troops when they get close enough. Hell, they’re in the open. Then we blast that junior-sized tank with TNAZ and hightail it for the wet.”
Murdock lifted his brows with wonder. Jaybird was always the optimist. Just then, the Iranian jets came blasting over again, evidently taking one more look before they started shooting.
“Net check. You homies spread out? I want twenty to thirty yards between your SEAL bodies. Sound off.”
All fourteen men responded. Murdock looked up. The Iranian troops were within 200 yard of their position. The armored personnel carrier started its engine and began to move forward slowly. Just then, he heard the Iranian jets. Something had to give. In another two hours it would be daylight.
3
Chaa Bahar, Iran
Murdock watched the armored personnel carrier moving forward, it’s 12.7mm machine gun swinging slowly side to side, searching for a target. In the distance he could hear the jets making their high-speed turns. The Iranian infantry had come out of their prone positions and moved forward at a deadly pace.
“Jaybird, what’s the universal signal to mark a target for fast-moving jets?”
Jaybird grinned. “Oh, yeah, Commander. Red flares.”
“So, Lead Petty Officer, drop three red flares on those advancing troops out there damn quick.”
The words went over the net, and the whole team knew the plan.
“I got one,” Jaybird said. “Sound off as you load. Who else?”
“Yeah, one in the hole,” Mahanani said.
Jaybird fired. A moment later, Murdock heard another flare launched and then a third. Two flares hit just in front of the advancing troops. The third one was right beside the personnel carrier, and glowed in the darkness.
Then the jets came storming in. Murdock wondered at the surprise of the pilots at the target designation. They’d make split microsecond decisions and follow their training.
Before Murdock turned to watch for the jets, they thundered overhead, having launched their payload seconds earlier. Three air-to-ground missiles jolted into the Iranian soil and exploded with a deadly rain of shrapnel. One took out two squads of the infantry. The second one blasted the armored personnel carrier into a flaming mass of twisted metal. The third round hit behind the advancing troops.
The entire line of Iranian soldiers hesitated.
“Let’s get them,” Murdock said and slammed off three rounds from his H&K MP-5 submachine gun. The high-speed 9mm and .223 zingers pounded the Iranians from all guns. They were joined by the machine guns and the H&K G-11 caseless rounds.
Ten seconds into the firing, Murdock called on the net.
“Bravo Squad men, put forty-mikes out there.” The men in Bravo Squad with the 40mm grenade launchers switched to the small bombs and scattered them along the line of march by the Iranians.
Half of the force fell and didn’t get up. In places, a squad of seven moved unhurt through the storm of lead. Another twenty seconds into the fight, and the Iranians began to waver, then one squad turned and ran to the rear. Two men from another squad tried to run back, but Horse Ronson picked them off with his NATO round machine gun.
Ten seconds later it was all over. Forty of the 140 who began the fight ran flat out to the rear. Only a few of those still had weapons.
“Cease fire,” Murdock said, and the SEALs’ weapons silenced.
“Lets go get wet,” Murdock said. He heard some cheers over the radio net, then the SEALs pushed down the reverse slope so they could stand without being seen and jogged toward the surf some 500 yards away.
“Lam and I will pull rear guard. Dobler, get the men into the water with rebreathers and head ninety degrees away from the shoreline, due south. Go, go, go.”
Lam and Murdock lay in the sand, their camouflaged floppy hats barely showing over the top of the dune. A few more stragglers hurried to the safety of the burned-out display. Murdock saw half a dozen wounded struggling to get to the rear as well.
“The jets didn’t come back for a second shot,” Lam said.
“Maybe they figured they had finished their job,” Murdock said. “Or maybe somebody used a radio and told them to get lost.” They watched for five minutes, and nobody moved toward the dunes. Murdock slid backward and motioned to Lam. They went downslope far enough to stand up without being seen and then jogged toward the beach.
Ahead, Murdock saw his men taking off their radios and putting them in the waterproof pouches; then they slung their weapons across their backs. Dobler checked each man, then slapped him on the back, and the SEAL went into the water. Dobler waited on the beach for Murdock and Lam.
When they ran up, Dobler waved. “Told the others to swim out for fifteen minutes, then surface and we get together.”
Murdock nodded.
Murdock and Lam were ready. The three ran into the surf just as they heard shots fired behind them. The shooters were out of range. The SEALs dove under the first wave and let the rebreathers work their magic. They left no telltale trail of bubbles for an enemy to follow. The SEALs didn’t take time to tie their buddy cords but stayed together as they stroked outward from the land.
When they could, they went down to fifteen feet and kept on their compass course.
Later, Lam touched Murdock’s shoulder and pointed to his watch. Murdock looked upward, and he and Lam surfaced. Dobler was just ahead of them. They checked around the choppy blue waves. Murdock whistled sharply between his teeth and waited.
He grinned when they heard another whistle to the left. They swam that way and found the twelve SEALs floating, talking, and treading water.
“Is that sonar beacon out?” Murdock asked.
“Yeah, Cap,” Jaybird said. “Fact is, I’ve got two of them trailing from my vest.”
Murdock looked back at the breaking waves.
“Less than a quarter of a mile off the beach. We better do another half mile, then come up for a peek. Buddy cords this time. Anybody get hit back there?”
Nobody reacted.
“Hell, Cap’n, don’t think we took a single round of incoming,” Yeoman Second Class “Guns” Franklin said. “Us and their own fly boys kicked shit out of them Iranians.”
“That we did. Now, let’s get some distance from the Islam republic back there.”
They swam.
They checked at half a mile, then swam again for half an hour and came up at what Murdock figured was about three miles offshore. They had seen no patrol boats searching for them. Murdock knew that Iran had some patrol boats. He’d seen some of the ten Kamin class boats, 150 feet long with harpoon missiles and a three-inch gun. He didn’t want to see one now.
They kept on the surface, and Jaybird made sure that the sonar tracking balls w
ere out and functioning. They waited.
“No sense to go any farther offshore,” Murdock said. “Iran doesn’t seem to want to come look for us. Figures. The sale wasn’t their show, they just rented the lot to old Osama bin Laden. They knew he could afford to take the loss. He dumps millions into terrorist groups every year.
Lam heard it first. He usually did.
“Chopper from the south. Must be one of ours.”
“How can a chopper find us?” Gunner’s Mate First Class Miguel Fernandez asked.
“Easy,” Ken Ching said. “Two of our submarines take a bearing on our sonar, get a cross-check fix on us, and radio the bird. Same way they hunt down enemy subs.”
They all watched the bird come toward them. Murdock fired off a green flare.
“It’s a Chinook,” Bradford said.
“No way. It’s a Sea Knight, a CH-46E,” Quinley yelped.
It came straight for them, slowed, and stopped a hundred feet away. It was a Sea Knight.
“SEALs, welcome back. Do you have any wounded?” It was a bullhorn from the chopper.
The men shook their heads.
“Very well. We’ll do a rope ladder pickup. By the book. We’ll come around into the wind for a hover.”
“You know the drill,” Murdock shouted. “Flippers around your necks. Line up. Bravo Squad first. Dobler, get them moving.”
By that time, the chopper came in and hovered. The rope ladder just touched the water’s surface. Franklin went up first. When he was on the third of the six rungs, Quinley grabbed the bottom rung.
It went like a training drill. Nobody slowed or stopped or fell off. It took just over four minutes for the fifteen SEALs to go up the ladder and inside the rear hatch of the Sea Knight.
Murdock shook hands with the crew chief, who closed the hatch.
“How far from the carrier?” Murdock asked.
“The lieutenant said it was about twenty minutes out here. Should be about the same back. Your men need anything?”
“Hot coffee and hot showers would be nice,” Murdock said, and they both chuckled.
Thirty minutes later, the chopper set down on the carrier deck, and the SEALs dismounted. They took all their gear and hurried to their quarters for coffee, hot showers, and clean cammies before the debriefing began.
Flashpoint sts-11 Page 3