Flashpoint sts-11

by Keith Douglass

  Murdock checked with the new man, Canzoneri.

  “How’d it go, Canzoneri?”

  “Fine, Commander. Just fine. Except for that damn rope ladder. Our unit never got to train on it. Some foul-up and then we didn’t get back to it. That was one hell of a climb.”

  Murdock smiled and went to his quarters. Yes, the new man was going to blend into the Bravo Squad and the platoon just fine.

  4

  NAVSPECWARGRUP-one

  Navy SEALs Training HQ

  Coronado, California

  Lieutenant Commander Blake Murdock eased into his desk chair in the cubicle he called his office and gave a huge sigh.

  Master Chief Gordon MacKenzie chuckled where he stood at the other side of the polished and empty desktop. “Well, laddie sir, looks like you’re happy to have your feet under home territory again.”

  Murdock leaned back in the chair and let out another sigh. “Oh, yes, Master Chief, this is a bit of heaven compared to where we’ve been. Not our longest mission, but one I’m still glad we’re away from. Our boys did good.”

  “I read your after-action report, Commander, and bucked it on up to our boss man. He can’t be overdispleased.”

  “I’m not about to worry about Dean Masciareli. What I want to know is how is our super splinter coming along?”

  “Working out hard. Been at it every day for the past three weeks, near as I can tell. Saturday and Sundays as well.”

  “Why don’t you just ask me?” a voice said from the hallway. Lieutenant (j.g.) Ed DeWitt came in the door and stood at an exaggerated ramrod attention.

  “Lieutenant (j.g.) DeWitt, reporting for regular duty, sir.” He shouted the last word the way the Tadpoles did in SEAL training.

  Murdock put his hands over his eyes. “I wanted to come home to this?”

  “Sir, I’m ready for full-load duty, Commander, sir!” Again DeWitt bellowed out the final word.

  The master chief broke up laughing. Murdock shook his head and waved at DeWitt.

  “Shut up and sit down, Ed, before the master chief here has a case of apoplexy or gets a hard-on. Damn, you’ve got loud. If your body is as strong as your voice, you’ve got a go.”

  DeWitt relaxed a little as he slumped in the visitor’s chair across the desk from Murdock.

  “I’m fit and strong and ready for duty, Murdock. I don’t want to miss another assignment, even a twenty-four-hour picnic. I got cut out of all the fun. I’ve been training like a Tadpole. That damn BB shot that hit my chest is gone and healed and forgotten. Hell, I can do the OC a full minute faster than ever before. I’m a gold-plated, absolute fit and ready SEAL, itching for some action.”

  “Medics clear you?”

  “Hey, that was two weeks ago. Cleared me for regular duty, and I’ve been at it hot and heavy—”

  Murdock held up his hand. “Okay, we’ll have some more training work, you keep up with us, and I’ll punch your ticket to get back on board.”

  DeWitt pushed a clipping from a magazine across the desk.

  “What’s this, some Buck Rogers blue-sky weapon?” Murdock asked.

  “No, sir, Commander,” Master Chief MacKenzie said. “The JG showed it to me. It’s one hell of a weapon. We bugged Don Stroh about it, and he did some fancy footwork.”

  Ed DeWitt jumped in. “The weapon is the new infantry rifle, and it’s the most advanced I’ve ever heard about. It has two barrels. One fires a twenty-millimeter explosive fragmentation round with a proximity fuze. Damn, that means we can in effect shoot around corners and hit troops dug in on reverse slopes. It’s a real winner.”

  “How heavy is it?” Murdock asked.

  “The M-16 with the added-on goodies weighs in at twenty pounds. This Bull Pup scorcher is only fourteen pounds. Get a load of this. The critter has a video camera built in with a six-power scope, laser range finder, and a miniature fire control computer. The laser range finder pinpoints the precise distance where you want the fragmentation round to explode.”

  “This thing does all the work?” Master Chief MacKenzie asked.

  Ed DeWitt shook his head. “Oh, hell no. You have to be able to hit your target with a laser beam so the weapon knows where the target is. Then it automatically determines the range and sets the fuze for the airburst directly on target.”

  “Who sets the damn fuze?” Murdock asked.

  “Read up on that last night,” DeWitt said. “It uses a turn-count fuzing system. The weapon gets the target information, knows the tech data on the ammunition, then the fire control system calculates the number of turns it takes the round to reach the target. The laser in the fire control sends pulses out to the target. It then analyzes each pulse and calculates the exact range. The fire control communicates that information to the fuze before the round exits the barrel. Damn fast, that is.”

  “So what did Don Stroh say?”

  “Our CIA contact said he’d get us six of them from the factory, handmade for field evaluation. The company is still testing it and making changes. Hell, the army isn’t scheduled to get this weapon until 2005.”

  “All that electronics,” Murdock said. “What happens if it gets wet?”

  “Not sure, but we won’t let it get wet. Oh, one more item. Those twenty-millimeter fragmentation rounds with proximity fuzes. They cost thirty bucks a pop.”

  “Hell of a lot more than even a fifty caliber,” Master Chief MacKenzie said. “Stroh said he could get us two of these fancy Bull Pups within forty-eight hours and the other four would take a month.”

  “Until then, we go with what we have,” Murdock said. “Oh, who makes this new wonder weapon?”

  “Best part,” DeWitt said. “The prime contractor and inventor is Alliant Techsystems Inc. of Minnesota. The basic weapon frame comes from H&K in Germany. An outfit from Pittsburgh, Contraves Inc., supplies the fire control system, and Dynamit Nobel AG has developed the twenty-millimeter ammunition.”

  “So this Bull Pup would replace our Colt M-4A1 and the grenade launcher?” Master Chief MacKenzie asked.

  “Could, and it would give us a lot more range,” DeWitt said. “The M-203 grenade launcher is good for not much more than two hundred yards. This Bull Pup can reach out a thousand yards with pinpoint accuracy. If you can get the red dot on the target, you can kill it.”

  “Fine,” Murdock said. “That’s downstream. It sounds good, and we’ll wring it out in trials as soon as it comes. Thirty dollars a round? Now, that’s expensive rifle fire. So, what about today and tomorrow? JG, you have any kind of a training schedule worked out for the troops?”

  “Figured you’d want one, boss, so I made one out. It’s only slightly slanted to the types of work that I want.”

  “Sounds good. We missed you on that recent swim. Want you back in the saddle for whatever comes next. How is Milly?”

  DeWitt dropped into the last chair in the room and rubbed his face with one hand. “Yeah, she’s good. You know she was uptight about my war wound. But, slowly, she’s come around. Almost back to normal. She said to ask you to come to a barbecue Sunday afternoon. You too, Master Chief.”

  Murdock looked at the master chief.

  “Well, sounds good, JG, but I’ve got a family thing planned for that day.”

  Murdock grinned. “Yeah, be glad to get some of that ’cue, just so Milly does the cooking.”

  “Oh, she will. Now, here is what I had set for today’s training.” The master chief waved at them and went back to what he called “work at the quarterdeck.” Murdock waved back. He remembered that the master chief always turned down their offers to socialize. They usually asked him, but he said no. He once explained to Murdock that he had ten platoons to worry about. He couldn’t let it look like he favored one over the other.

  “The men all took three-day liberty and are back ready,” Ed DeWitt said. “It’s just past 0900 hours, and they are checking weapons and equipment. Ready when you are, CB.”

  Murdock looked up and laughed. “By CB, you mean C. B
. DeMille, the old-time movie director? I got that one. Let’s see, a six-mile soft sand run, then a six-mile ocean swim without fins, then live firing at the hole. What happens in the afternoon?”

  The platoon had been home for a week when the first two boxes arrived by special jet to North Island, then by car directly to the Third Platoon’s office. Third Platoon had just returned from a live firing run into the San Diego east county hills, and the men were checking out lunch.

  Lieutenant (j.g.) DeWitt stared at the boxes for a full minute before he took out a pocketknife and cut the tape that sealed them.

  Inside, he and Murdock found the first fully assembled and ready-to-shoot Bull Pup rifle. It glowed in its all-black splendor.

  “Go ahead,” Murdock said.

  DeWitt picked it up and hefted it, then settled the butt plate against his shoulder and looked through the six-power scope.

  “Wow, I love this shooter,” DeWitt said. He caught up the thirty-round magazine for the 5.56mm barrel and rammed it home. He found the six-round magazine for the much longer 20mm HE rounds and pushed that into place near the butt plate.

  Murdock found a pamphlet of instructions and handed it to DeWitt. The commander opened another sheet of paper from the box. He pushed it at DeWitt, who read it aloud.

  “The company is sorry, but there is no ammunition for the twenty-millimeter part of the weapon available yet. We will ship you two hundred rounds early next week.

  “As per our agreement with Mr. Stroh, we will expect frequent reports on the field use of this weapon. Please give us as much detail as possible about any malfunctions, jamming, misfiring of rounds, early detonation, or problems with the electronics, aiming, and fuzing systems. Send all correspondence to the above address.”

  Senior Chief Will Dobler came in and let out a whoop.

  “It came. That’s it, the Bull Pup? Damn, but she’s a beauty. When do we start test-firing her?”

  “No twenty-millimeter ammo yet,” DeWitt said.

  “Hell, we can use the five-five-six and the laser. Let’s give it a workout this afternoon. What’s on the schedule?”

  DeWitt grinned and handed the weapon to Dobler. “Yeah, let’s switch and go up to the pit and put some rounds through her.”

  Senior Chief Dobler winced. “Oh, damn, I’d love to. Commander, I came in here to ask for some personal time. I need the afternoon off. Can you spare me?”

  “Urgent, Senior Chief?”

  “Damn fucking urgent, Commander, or I wouldn’t ask.”

  “Go.”

  “Thanks, Commander. I’ll get back at you.” The senior chief hurried out the door and up to the quarterdeck and out to his car in the parking lot in front. He started the three-year-old Buick Regal and whipped it out of the lot, heading left into Coronado. Less than two miles from the base, he parked in front of a half-block-long row of condos and apartments and hurried up the steps. The apartments had small balconies joining the steps, and he looked down the row at six more small shelves of the same size.

  His next-door neighbor, Mrs. Jordan, sat on a chair in the shade, reading. She glanced up. “She ain’t home, Chief.”

  Dobler stopped and went over to the end of his balcony that met the neighbors’.

  “She’s not here, Mrs. Jordan? She wasn’t feeling well this morning when I left.”

  “Guess so. Ambulance came about an hour ago. I didn’t know where to call you.”

  “Ambulance? Where did they take her?”

  “The driver said to tell you the nearest emergency room was at the Coronado Hospital on Prospect Place.”

  He turned and ran. “Thanks!” he shouted over his shoulder and took the steps down, four at a time.

  She was still in the emergency section of the hospital when he got there. He found the doctor who had treated her.

  “Yes, you can see her for a short visit. She’s still under some medications, so she’s not totally lucid. It was a close thing. She called nine-one-one just in time.”

  “Why?” Dobler asked. He realized he was still in his cammies, floppy hat and all. At least he hadn’t brought any weapons except the KA-BAR strapped to his right ankle under the cammies.

  The doctor, who looked as if he hadn’t slept for two days, sighed and rubbed his forehead.

  “I thought someone had told you. She took about thirty sleeping pills and slashed her wrists before she called.”

  “Oh, damn. I knew she was feeling down.”

  “This was a lot more than down. Severe depression is more like it. I want to keep her here for three days for observation. We made the mandatory report to the police. Has she been under psychiatric care?”

  “No, she said she didn’t need it.”

  “That’s like asking the pot if it’s black. She needs it, and you may, too, trying to cope with her. I’m sorry. This sort of thing happens. Now, why don’t you go in and see her. Children at school? You’ll have to take care of that problem, too. Do you have relatives here?”

  Dobler shook his head. “I’ll deal with it.”

  The doctor pulled back the drape from around part of the bed, then closed it when Dobler was inside.

  Nancy Dobler’s eyes were closed. Will blinked as he stared down at her. Dark hair mussed on the pillow. No makeup, hands and arms outside the hospital-white sheet. Heavy straps bound each arm to the railing. Six-inch-long white bandages wrapped each wrist.

  “Nan. Nancy baby, I’m so sorry. I knew you were upset this morning, but I didn’t think that you would…” He stopped. Her eyes flickered, then came open to stay. Silent tears welled and ran down her cheeks.

  “Baby, I’m so sorry.” He brushed strands of loose hair back from her face and wiped wetness off her cheeks. “So sorry.”

  She cleared her throat.

  “Water,” she said softly, her voice scratchy. When he didn’t move at once, she brayed the same word again, and a nurse moved back the curtain and looked in.

  “She wants some water, nurse. Can you bring her some?”

  The nurse said she could and hurried away.

  “It’s the damn fucking tube they rammed down my throat when they pumped my stomach.” She glared at him. “Well, how the hell would you feel getting everything sucked out of your belly?”

  The nurse came back in the middle of the sentence and she lifted her brows and frowned at the senior chief.

  Nancy leaned up so the nurse could hold the glass for her, then the nurse put it on a table nearby and left.

  “Look, Nancy. This is my fault. I should have been able to know what was coming and stayed home with you. I can do more of that. I’ll take some time. I’m due two weeks’ leave. Maybe we can fly to Chicago or New York and see the town.”

  “Mrs. Jordan told you I was here?”

  “Yes. She really likes you.”

  “Bullshit. She hates me and the kids for making so much noise. She tells me so whenever you aren’t around. Everybody in that whole shitty complex hates my guts.”

  “The doctor wants to keep you here for two or three days for observation.”

  Nancy laughed. “Oh sure, observation. They don’t want me to try it again and do it right. I should have used that thirty-eight pistol of yours. No waiting time. Immediate results.”

  “Don’t talk that way. You can’t mean that.”

  “I do mean it, and you know I do, and you know that I’m probably going to try again. Maybe not this week or this month. But when that damn elephant gets on my back, there’s no way to budge him off, except one. Why cry all the time and be miserable when I can end it with one goddamned thirty-eight slug?”

  “Nancy, listen to yourself. You talk that way when the psychiatrist comes to see you, and they’ll ship you down to the psych ward at Balboa Naval Hospital.”

  “Hell yes, lock me up and throw away the fucking key. Sounds about right. You have a nice day, too, fucking Boatswain’s Mate First Class Senior Chief Dobler. I’m going to take a nap. Maybe I’ll dream I’m half normal. Hell yes, a na
p. Best idea I’ve had all day.”

  Nancy Dobler turned her back to him. She would be sleeping in a minute or two. He’d seen her do it a hundred times. He looked at his watch. Fourteen-thirty. Chuck and Helen would be coming home soon from school. No, this was Wednesday, that was cheerleader’s practice. Chuck then. He had to figure out someplace for them to stay. Who this time? He’d been using up his welcome at some of his friends there in Coronado.

  Mrs. Fernandez. Miguel’s wife? A chance. He didn’t know them well but had met them at a platoon fish fry last month. Could he ask her? He didn’t know of anyone else. He drove home and called the base and talked to Miguel.

  “That’s the story, Miguel. My wife will be in the hospital for two or three days, and I’m in real need.”

  “Senior Chief, no sweat. Hey, you bring the kids over after school and with clothes for school and books and Maria can be there for them for as long as it takes. She’s good with kids. Linda will love having a brother and sister. I’ll call Maria and tell her you’re coming.”

  “I owe you, man.”

  “No sweat. Just take care of your wife, Nancy, wasn’t it? Just get her well, that’s the important thing.”

  With that settled, Dobler checked the apartment. He found the blood in the kitchen and a trail into the living room and a dark red splotch on the rug where she must have fallen. The empty bottle of sleeping pills lay on the kitchen counter.

  He tried not to think about it as he scrubbed up the blood. He never did get it all out of the carpet. How many times? He shook his head, remembering. Four, this was at least the fourth time. Her mother told him she had tried twice in high school, but no one knew if she was really serious or just trying to get attention. It got her attention, all right.

  Was that still the problem? He spent too much time with the Navy and not enough time with her and the kids? Might be. Maybe he did need some counseling after all. Marriage counseling. That might help. At once he knew that she would never agree to it. She had told him many times before that she would never allow a shrink to dig into her brain.