“Move,” he said into the Motorola. The squad walked out of the growth to the riverbank and trotted down it to the road along the river. They were in the outskirts of Sierra City now, and moved quickly from shadow to shadow as they worked down the main road to a less-traveled street. Sandari led them. He told them he had grown up a short distance from the five-mile dock. They threaded through dark alleys, past shuttered houses and buildings, and along narrow streets that looked like cattle trails at times.
Murdock checked his watch. They had taken off precisely at 1200 and flown for twenty minutes. Now it was almost 0100 and they were not at their target.
“How much farther?” he asked Sandari.
“The Government Building is this side of the main business district,” Sandari said. “Maybe ten more minutes.”
They came up to the rear entrance of the large Government Building. It was only two stories high, but spread out over most of the square block. The near half of the block held an empty parking lot.
“Guards?” Murdock asked.
Sandari pointed to the far right corner of the building, then to the central rear door and again to the far left.
“Jaybird, guard to the far right. You and I will do him. Then move to the central rear door. The guard on the left can’t see the back door. Let’s move.”
The two ran down the block and came out less than forty yards from the lookout post. They leaned against a wooden building and watched the guard. He walked a short post and came back. Then he put his rifle on the ground and dug into his pockets. A moment later they saw a flare of light.
“Smoker,” Murdock said. “Good, his night vision will be seriously impaired for five minutes.” Murdock and Jaybird crept around the building, and then walked naturally across the open space toward the guard. They would act as if they belonged there. They had their weapons slung and were talking when the guard looked their way. He looked again, then waved. The two SEALs waved back, then slanted toward the man.
“Hey, got a smoke?” Jaybird asked from ten feet away. The guard snorted.
“Damn moochers. Buy some of your own smokes sometime.” He had just reached in his pocket, when Jaybird’s KA-BAR knife lanced through his shirt and drove deep into the soldier’s heart killing him instantly. Jaybird caught him and dragged him into the building’s shadow. The rest of Alpha Squad rushed across the open space. Ken Ching picked up the dead guard’s AK-47, slung it over his shoulder, and manned the guard post.
Murdock led the rest of the squad close to the building and out of sight of the guards on the rear entrance at the center. Bravo Squad followed, and soon the SEALs were within twenty feet of the two men on guard. Murdock and Jaybird slung their MP-5’s, drew their KA-BAR knives, and held them in their right hands with the blades hidden behind their arms.
They walked out into the open and toward the two federal soldiers. One guard called out in a conversational tone, “Hey there, you lost?”
“Shortcut,” Jaybird said.
“Anybody got a smoke?” Murdock asked. “I’m dying for a smoke.” By that time they were within ten feet of the two guards. The guards frowned, and one started to pull up his slung rifle. Jaybird swung up his silenced MP-5 and put two of three rounds into the man’s chest. The other guard froze for a second, and it was long enough for Murdock to jolt forward and ram his fighting knife into the man’s lung. He went down. Murdock pulled out the KA-BAR and slashed it across the guard’s throat. They dragged both guards into the shadows next to the building. Then Donegan and Rafii walked up and took the place of the guards, using their AK-47 rifles as props.
Murdock ran to the rear door. Locked. He fired six rounds from the silenced MP-5 at the lock. Metal and lead flew, then the door unlocked and drifted open. The ten SEALs rushed inside leaving the three outside who had replaced the guards.
Sandari led the group. He walked quickly down the central hall to the left and pointed to the basement door. Locked. Jaybird used his silenced MP-5 and fired one three-round burst at the lock. He pulled on the handle and the door opened. Sandari went through first, turned on two light switches, and then went down the steps. Murdock was right behind him.
“Second door to the right,” Sandari said. “That used to be documents.” The door was unlocked. Sandari turned on the room lights to find the space empty. He shrugged, and they went to the next door. This one was locked. Murdock fired twice with the MP-5 and broke the lock. Murdock heard a muffled cry from inside the room. Sandari opened the door and turned on the lights.
“Thank God,” Don Stroh said. He was tied to a bunk in the otherwise empty room. He wore the same clothes, had a shadowy beard, and his hair was rumpled.
“Where’s the Vice President?” Murdock asked.
“Next room. We tap on the wall now and then. No code, just to know we’re alive.”
Jaybird cut the thin nylon ropes that held Stroh to the cot. He stood and his knees gave way, then held, and he walked around a little. “Damn, good to be moving.”
Murdock had left with Sandari. They ran to the last door. It also was locked. This time it took six rounds to break the lock. Murdock opened the door and rushed inside. The lights were on. The Vice President sat at a low desk with a pen and paper. He threw down the pen and jumped up. For a moment he looked confused. Then he must have recognized Murdock. His face broke and he began sobbing. He rushed to Murdock, threw his arms around him, and wouldn’t let go.
“It’s all right, Mr. Vice President. We’re here. We’re going to take you home. Don’t worry. The worst is over. We’re going to get you out of here.”
It took several minutes before the Vice President would let go of Murdock. Tears still washed down his cheeks. “They put a loaded gun to my head three times. They tried to get me to sign all sorts of confessions. I kicked one of them in the balls and he beat me with a club. God, I want to get home.”
Jaybird ran back up the steps and checked in the main hall. He saw no sign of any federal troops. He hurried down the hall toward the rear entrance, then jolted into a doorway as a detail of ten armed federal soldiers marched into the hall from a room and turned away from him. When they were gone, Jaybird rushed back to the basement stairway.
Murdock and the platoon waited for him. He motioned, and they ran down the hall toward the rear door. Three federal soldiers came out of a room and stared at them, then lifted their rifles. Jaybird and Bradford cut them down with a dozen rounds. The SEALs ran faster, the Vice President and Don Stroh keeping up with them. The two men were in the middle of the group. They made it to the rear door. Jaybird opened it a crack and looked out. He shut it quickly.
“Skipper. There’s a vehicle out there and two men have guns trained on our guys.”
“Can you nail them with silent rounds?” Murdock asked. Jaybird nodded. Van Dyke and Fernandez moved up to the door and when Jaybird opened it a foot, they both fired. The bullets hit the two federal officers in the chests and knocked them down. The SEALs, along with the Vice President and Stroh, poured out the door, picked up Donegan and Rafii, and stormed for the far side of the building. They took fire from the vehicle that was parked near the entrance.
Bill Bradford stopped, turned, and fired one round from his Bull Pup. The 20mm hit the half-ton truck and exploded, silencing the guns there.
The SEALs picked up Ching at his guard post and sprinted for the nearby building. A machine gun cut through the silence. The lead splattered just to the side of the SEALs as they crowded behind a wooden building.
“Where is he?” Gardner yelled. Nobody knew. Then Gardner saw the flashes and aimed a 20mm round at them. He hit the laser button, and the round exploded over the heads of the machine-gun crew. Two of them went down dead. The third man crawled back to the.30-caliber weapon and continued to fire.
Fernandez zeroed in on the flashes with his sniper rifle and fired six carefully aimed shots. The machine gun ceased to function.
“Let’s move,” Murdock said. Sandari led them down the block at a
trot, angled away from the Government Building, and they were halfway down a narrow street with shuttered businesses on both sides when a seven-man squad of federal soldiers blocked their way and at once began firing.
The SEALs took cover wherever they could find it. Three old cars were the best to be had. The SEALs returned fire. Two twenties exploded in airbursts over the soldiers. One lifted up to run toward the corner, but Fernandez nailed him with two rounds from his sniper rifle.
The firing from ahead fell off. Another airburst twenty silenced it. Two federals lifted up and raced to the shelter of a building at the corner. They made it.
“Canzoneri, Mahanani, go check for survivors,” Gardner said. The two ran forward on a zigzag course, then stopped and kicked the corpses. One man lifted his rifle, but a round from Mahanani’s MP-5 ended the threat.
“All clear,” Canzoneri said on the Motorola. The platoon ran forward, stepped over the bodies, and hurried up another block. Murdock had assigned Lam and Bradford to take care of the Vice President. One of them was always near him. When the firing started in the street, Bradford had pushed the Vice President behind the car and held him there. On the march they stayed beside him. He struggled now to keep up, and Lam was on the Motorola.
“Skipper, we’re having trouble staying with you. Cut the damn pace.”
“That’s a roger, Lam. We’re slowing down. How’s he doing?”
“We’ll make it if we go slower. Remember, he’s a civilian and probably fifty-five years old.”
They walked from there on. Murdock didn’t worry about Don Stroh. He could take care of himself and keep up. They were almost out of the splash of houses near the four- or five-mile line when Sandari dropped to the ground. The rest of the SEALs went down as well. Sandari didn’t have a Motorola. Murdock crawled up beside him.
“A truck and soldiers in the road ahead,” Sandari said.
Murdock looked it over. A roadblock. They might have roadblocks up every night. This one had one truck and five or six men. The SEALs could take it out or go around it. If the SEALs splattered the soldiers, it would pinpoint their location. He didn’t like that.
“Lam, how’s the Veep doing?” Murdock asked.
“He’s tired, but he says he can make it. He should be behind a desk somewhere, not out here.”
“Seen Stroh?”
“He’s around. He picked up an AK-47 at that last set-to. He thinks he’s a SEAL now.”
“Good. He’ll have some practice. All hands. We have a roadblock ahead. We’re going into the field to the left. We need to move that direction to find our chopper. Absolutely no noise. We’ll keep ten yards apart. Follow our path.”
Murdock motioned, and Sandari walked off the dirt road into a field, and went out a quarter of a mile before he turned north again. They hiked for another thirty minutes through fields and along some roads, and then turned back to the right.
“Twenty minutes and we should be at the chopper,” Sandari said. Murdock had kept close tabs on the Vice President. He would hold up well as long as they just kept walking, Lam told him. Stroh had come by, and had been disappointed they hadn’t had another firefight now that he had a weapon.
The Motorolas picked up a transmission.
“Calling Murdock. This is Halstrom. Come in, Murdock. I’ve got some trouble.”
“Halstrom. Murdock here. Just barely hear you. Where are you?”
“Almost five miles north of the drop-off point. I waited there after the second run with Mojombo. He said wait there. An hour later a bunch of gunmen started shooting. I had to lift off. Took some rounds and some damage. I flew out a ways and set down so I could inspect the ship for any real problems. I found some. They cut up my bird pretty bad. Three rounds into the engine. I have a cut oil line, a messed-up fuel line, and control-surface damage. Just no way I can put this bird in the air. Afraid I can’t ferry you guys back to the village.”
24
The Night Joisette Died
San Diego, California
Shortchops Jackson waited for the white cop to come up to his rolled-down window.
“What’s the problem, Officer?”
“Will you please get out of the car and put your hands on the roof?”
“Sure.” Shortchops did as he was told. He was frisked quickly and then told to turn around.
“So what’s the problem?”
“Your left taillight is out. With a nice car like this, I figured you’d want to know. Can I see your registration and license?”
“Registration is in the glove box.”
“I’ll get it,” the cop said. He sat in the Caddy and pushed over so he could open the glove box. He took out an owner’s manual with the registration paper clipped to the first page. He took it out and read it with his flashlight.
“Are you Arnold Jackson?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your license says Arnold S. Jackson.”
“Right, I don’t always use my middle initial.”
“Okay, sit down in the car. I’m going to give you an equipment violation. You get it repaired within thirty days and send in a receipt with the signed ticket, and you’ll be square.”
“Yes, sir.”
Five minutes later the cop pulled away from Shortchops and the thin black man gave a sigh of relief. He changed his mind about going to Las Vegas. Hell, the cops would find him sooner or later. Maybe he should just go down to the Central Police Station and say he’d heard they wanted to talk to him about Joisette. Yeah, maybe, maybe not. For now he’d go home and get some sleep. If he was going to clean up and get straight, this was the time to start. He had to get clean; he had to get a lawyer. A new shirt and some good slacks wouldn’t hurt. Some nice ones. Even new shoes. Shortchops grinned. He was feeling like a rich man already.
The cops worried him. How do you prove that you didn’t do something? Tough. They had to prove that you did. Tougher when you didn’t do it. He drove carefully back to Southeast San Diego, and parked down the street from his apartment. It was the worst place he had ever lived. Maybe in a few months he’d have lots of money. Or maybe he’d be in jail waiting trial for murder. First thing he had to do was vanish. Leave everything in the apartment and get the hell out and find a new place. Yeah, move. All he’d take would be his fiddle. That’s why he liked the Caddy. It had room enough to tote the bass wherever he went. That was the problem. Where did he go? The cops could be down at his place right now waiting for him. They were smart, had contacts. He did know quite a few people in town, especially around his apartment. He grinned. And he knew a few hookers. So where this time of night?
He decided. He’d have to sleep in the car tonight. In the morning he’d find a cheap apartment somewhere. He could even stay at one of the missions downtown. Pray and sing a little and you could bunk there for a week at a time. Yeah. Praise the Lord.
Back to the Veep Rescue
Near the five-mile dock
Sierra City, Bijimi
Murdock knew that everyone in the platoon had heard the word from the chopper that it couldn’t ferry them back to their camp at Tinglat. Conference time.
“Lam, Sadler, Jaybird, JG, Mahanani, Sandari, and Stroh, front and center for a powwow. Now.”
They gathered under some tall trees at the edge of a field where the chopper was supposed to land.
“Sonofabitch, they did it to us again,” Jaybird said.
“Somebody said if you get raped enough times, it doesn’t hurt anymore,” Mahanani said. “This must be our tenth time.”
“Enough,” Murdock said. “Our concern now is how we get out of here and up north. Evidently the federal folks have patrols or blocking units or something in this area. They may have been expecting some reaction from the Loyalists or us.
“First, our main package. Mahanani, how is the Vice President holding up?”
“He’s tired, but delighted to be out of prison, as he put it. He can walk and looks to be in good shape. What do we have, about fifteen miles yet
?”
“Close to it,” Jaybird said. “Do we have any energy bars, chocolate, anything that might give him an energy boost?”
“Tried chocolate bars, but they melted and ran out of my vest,” Mahanani said. “We have something else that I don’t remember the name of. We’ll give him a bar every hour.”
“Good. Lam, about how far are we from the trail north and should we take it?”
“Not the one along the river. The federals will have that zeroed in. They know we go north. It’s a no-brainer for them.”
“So, do we crash jungle for fifteen miles?” JG Gardner asked.
Sandari shook his head. “No jungle. There are dozens of trails that go to the north. Some move away from the river a mile. The federals can’t cover them all.”
“Can you find them for us?” Murdock asked.
“I know the trails, but I can’t guarantee that they will be safe.”
“Pick out what looks like the safest one. You and Lam recon it for a mile, then come back. Go, now.”
Murdock looked at the other men. “Okay, you guys. We’ve got ourselves a little problem here. Put on the other uniform. In their place what would you do about us?”
Senior Chief Sadler took the lead. “Patrol forces squad size so they could cover more trails. Then in back of them, I’d put a blocking force for a surprise. Say we blast through a seven-man squad and think we’re home free. The blocking force hears the firefight, moves up and establishes an ambush, and catches us in a deadly crossfire with their AK-47s, MGs, and sub guns.
“They would have a good-sized force at the five- and ten-mile docks, knowing that we’ve used river transport before. It wouldn’t make any difference if there was no boat there. We could call it in when we arrived and they could blow us out of the water and off the dock.”
Lieutenant (j.g.) Gardner took the floor. “Why not go out three miles from the five-mile bridge and set out two-man patrols walking six or eight of the main trails north out of town? Cover them all. Walk these men back and forth from the eight- to ten-mile marks. These men would be expendable, but if they made contact with the enemy, it would pinpoint the location of the Loyalists. Then we rush in massive forces and overwhelm the bad guys, in this case us.”
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