“Hey, a fish is a fish. Come on, our poles, licenses, and tickets are all paid for and waiting for us.” Stroh laughed when Murdock started to protest. “Hey, I won’t let you say no. I’m your boss, remember? Anyway, this will give you a chance to chew me out for letting you find your own way out of Iraq. Things just fouled up, and I’m sorry. Now, get your tail in motion. We have to drive all the way down to Mission Bay to the landing.”
“I’d like to go, but the master chief here gets seasick.”
“You lie, Commander. The car is ready. Where’s your hat?”
They pushed off from the Seaforth dock at 12:35, and stopped at the bait barge to pick up anchovies; then they headed out the channel to the Pacific Ocean, and turned north toward the La Jolla kelp beds that spread out for a half mile seaward. It would take them almost an hour to get to the first fishing stop. They signed in, and got their numbers for their burlap sacks to hold their catch. Murdock saw that there were thirty-two fisher-persons on the boat.
Murdock bought three beers at the small galley, and they settled down at the tables.
“Now, Stroh. Tell me what kind of foul-ups on your end almost got me and my men killed by Saddam Hussein.”
When they docked a little before 1800, they all had fish in their numbered gunnysacks. In the parking lot, Murdock went through the sacks, picked out the mackerel, and gave them to a Vietnamese family who waited nearby.
“Fish fry at my condo tonight,” Murdock said. “Master Chief, see how many of my guys you can round up.”
The evening was a raucous success. Three of the other condo owners complained. Six of the SEALs had shown up, including Lieutenant (j. g.) Ed Dewitt and his lady, Milly.
A little after midnight, Don Stroh got around to telling Murdock why he really came to town.
“Frankly, the NSC is worried about North Korea. State has no idea what’s going on over there. The situation is volatile and we want your Third Platoon on a carrier in the area where you can be on instant call.
You’ll fly over when we think it’s about ready to blow. No timetable yet. That should give your four men time to heal up enough to be operational. You’re getting a replacement for Gonzales, I’d imagine.”
“Tomorrow or the next day, yes. My other men will need at least a month to get healed, and then another month to get back in condition. I can’t have them running twenty miles with bullet holes still healing in their legs.”
“This isn’t next week, Murdock. Just a little advance warning.
Hell, Berlin or Mexico or Antarctica might blow up before then, and you’ll be off somewhere else. This is just the hottest thing on our agenda right now, for your future calendar.”
“The National Security Council is uptight again, huh? So we go over there and sit on the fucking carrier and wait for something to happen?”
“About the size of it. Look at it this way. You won’t have to do all that tough desert training out at Niland.”
“How long do we wait on board the toy boat?”
“Not sure. A month at least, maybe two months. You can do physical training on the deck, dodge Tomcats landing. You can take target practice off the flight deck, work night problems when there’s no flying. Be a change of scene.”
“But we still just sit and wait.”
“About the size of it.”
“We’ll get some tough training in before we go. Don’t tell the men about this yet. We’ll surprise them a week before we leave.”
The next morning the men were still on leave, and Murdock spent half the morning with the master chief sorting through prospects for a replacement for his team. There were eight men fresh out of BUD/S training who had not been assigned a SEAL Team yet. Murdock figured he needed more larger men in the platoon.
He liked two of them. One was a tough Chicano from Los Angeles.
He admitted that he’d been in a gang there, but had bailed out and moved away from town. He was clean, no police record, no behavior problems, and had an outstanding record in BUD/S. He was six-two and weighed 210 pounds.
The second man was half Hawaiian and half Tahitian. He’d been in the Navy for four years, was a first class corpsman, but said he wasn’t looking for the doc job in a platoon. He’d grown up on surf and sand in San Diego. Could bench-press four hundred pounds, had been married for a while and had a three-year-old daughter in Los Angeles, and had the all-time SEAL record for the three-mile ocean swim without fins. His papers said he was six-four and weighed 220 pounds.
Murdock decided he had to see the men. Master Chief Mackenzie had them both at Murdock’s office at 1300. He took the Latino, Manuel Guzman, first. Murdock liked the kid on first sight. He was twenty-four, had been in the Navy for four years, and had a brush cut that hadn’t grown out much from the BUD/S training period.
Guzman stood at attention until Murdock told him to sit down. He did so stiffly, looking nervous.
“Guzman, why do you want to be in Platoon Three?”
“You’re the action around here, Commander. You get more assignments than all of the other platoons combined. I like action. I used to work the flight deck. I didn’t want to get sucked into the intake of a jet.”
Murdock nodded. He’d seen it happen once on a carrier. He didn’t want to watch it again.
“You have a family?”
“Parents in LA. Two sisters. A batch of uncles and cousins I don’t really know. I got out of town when I quit one of the clubs they have up there.”
“You seem a little tense, Guzman.”
“Yes, Sir. Officers make me that way.”
“Not a good quality for a SEAL. You know that I went through BUD/S training the same as you did. Only I had to score ten percent better on everything than the enlisted. The instructors love to pour it on the officer tadpoles. Didn’t you have any officers in your class?”
“Yes, sir. Two. Both rang the bell.”
“They don’t do that anymore.”
“We still call it that. Put your hat down by the bell and bug out.
We say they rang the damned bell.”
“You’re Second Class.”
“Yes, sir. Striking for first on my next chance.”
“You know it’s hard to keep up with your specialty and do the job as a SEAL.”
“Yes, Sir. I want the next grade.”
Murdock stood. Guzman stood at once, and came to attention.
“Thanks, Guzman, Master Chief Mackenzie will be talking with you.”
Guzman started to salute, then dropped his hand, did a snappy about-face, and walked out of the room.
Murdock went to his door, and motioned to the next man, Jack Mahanani. The man rose out of the chair across the squad room, and filled the door frame when he walked in. He stood at ease, and grinned at Murdock. Murdock told him to sit down. He did with a smooth, controlled movement that many big men lack.
“Damn, Sir. Been hoping like crazy to get a shot at the Third Platoon of Seven.”
“Why’s that, Jack?”
“Hell, you guys get all the best assignments. Seems like you’re in the field damn near half the time. Hear you almost lost a man on your last run. Bitchin’. But then that means I got a shot at filling in his place.”
“How much do you weigh, Jack?”
“Two-forty. I keep it right there. I know the SEAL limit is two-forty-two, so I don’t get in no trouble.”
“Hear you like to swim.”
“True. My mom says I’m half dorado. I’d rather be half white shark, but you take what you can get.”
“You did the rough-water three-mile without fins?”
“Oh, that. Yeah, kind of embarrassing. I beat all the instructors who challenged me. They roasted me for a week.”
“All-time record, I hear.”
“Yeah. My Tahitian mom is to blame. She made me swim every day off Mission Beach in San Diego. Said every Tahitian should be a swimmer.”
“You’re a Hospital Corpsman First Class, but don’t want the corpsm
an job in the platoon. Is that right?”
“I could do it if your regular man goes down. Rather use one of them big fifty-caliber Mcmillan eighty-sevens.”
“You should be able to handle it. Jack, how do I pronounce your last name?”
“It’s Hawaiian, my dad’s moniker. Mahanani, just the way it looks.
Pronounce every letter.”
“Thanks. Now, why do you want to be in Third Platoon of the Seventh?”
“Like I said. You guys get all the action. Training is fine, but I hear some of these platoons here have never fired a damn shot in anger on a mission. I don’t want to play at war that way. I want some real action.”
Murdock grinned. He liked this kid. “Jack Mahanani, I think we can guarantee you some real action. If you come with us, we’ll get you blooded in a big rush.”
Murdock stood up. Jack stood.
“Jack, you’ll be hearing from Master Chief Mackenzie. You’re supposed to report back to him now.”
As soon as he left, Murdock got on the phone to Mackenzie.
“Yes, George. I want Jack Mahanani. Write out the orders for him.
He’s to report here at zero-eight-hundred Monday morning.”
“The swimmer. He’s quite a specimen. You can use him. I’ll get the paperwork done. He’s all yours. I’d guess you’ll go on a training sked.”
“You guess right, Master Chief.”
“Whatever you need, have Jaybird give me a call.”
“Will do. Thanks.”
They hung up, and Murdock looked at his master training chart.
What could he pull out to help integrate Mahanani into the platoon?
Holt, with the slug through his left arm, could do all of the training exercises except the o-course. Adams and Douglas, with their minor shrapnel wounds, could take the pace on any of the training. Ken Ching, with the slug through his thigh, would have to go light on marching and swimming for a week, maybe two. He’d be left behind on the first week’s workouts. Murdock decided to assign Ching to a series of upper body workouts that wouldn’t bother his leg and would keep him busy.
Mahanani could fit into Gonzalez’s old slot in the Second Squad, but that would be up to Dewitt. He might want to adjust his squad somehow. The big Hawaiian would be the man if they put a Mcmillan Fifty with the squad. Murdock had often thought of having two of the long-range weapons in the platoon. This might be the time to try it.
He’d talk to Dewitt Monday.
Murdock took Sunday off. He stayed at his condo, slept until noon, then called Ardith and ran up his phone bill.
“I’m recuperating from a nasty cold, I’m tired, crotchety, and I wish I was there so you could pamper me a little,” she said. “I can use a lot of pampering right now.”
“Hey, wish I was there too. Maybe in March.”
“But this is only January. March is not acceptable.” There was a pause, and she gave a long sigh. “Damn, Murdock, why can’t we at least work on the same side of the country?” They went on talking for a half hour.
“I hear things are heating up over in North Korea,” Ardith said.
“Wouldn’t know, I’m not at the seat of government. I’m just a lowly cog in the military machine. Nobody tells me anything.”
“I bet. Hey, fair warning. If I hear about you getting ready to shoot off somewhere on a mission, I’m going to have an urgent need to do some government work in San Diego. Fair warning.”
“Heard and understood. No complaints from this side of the country. I better let you go. Pamper yourself. A bubble bath, and then a long nap, some coffee, and maybe some white wine while you watch the flames in your fireplace.”
“Oh, yes. I’ll remember doing that when you were here.”
“Good night, beautiful lady.”
“Thank you, and good night to you.”
Murdock hung up. Why couldn’t life be simpler? Why couldn’t Ardith have a nothing job, and jump at the chance to live in San Diego, and be with him all the time? He snorted. Hell, then she wouldn’t be Ardith, and he probably wouldn’t look at her twice.
He went for a two-mile walk, then watched an old movie on TV, and got to bed early.
Monday morning, Murdock put Third Platoon into a light training schedule. They were near Niland in the California desert at the Naval Chocolate Mountain Gunnery Range for two days. They had some new weapons Murdock wanted to test. The men who had not fired the now-standard H&K G-11 caseless-round automatic rifle got all the firing time they wanted with it.
“Every man here has to be proficient with every weapon we carry.
Who hasn’t been checked out on the fifty-caliber sniper rifle yet?”
There were three men, including Mahanani. Murdock told Bradford to give Mahanani lots of work on the big weapon. Bradford took them to the “B” range, and they each took twenty-five shots. Then Bradford gave them all a quick course in breaking down and cleaning the heavy-firing long gun.
Murdock and Dewitt had talked about Mahanani before they left.
“Yeah, let’s put him in Gonzalez’s spot in the formation,” Dewitt had said. “I like the idea of having a Fifty in my squad. It’ll give us a little more firepower when we need it. He’s big enough to do the job. What does he weigh?”
Murdock had told him 240.
“I just hope I don’t have to carry him out of some firefight like we did Gonzalez.”
Murdock showed the rest of the men a weapon that looked strange.
It had a bipod, shot a NATO 7.62 round, and could be used to fire around the corner of a building or a wall. The weapon was placed around the corner, then the gunner sat in the protected spot, looked through a right-angled flexible telescope, and fired the weapon with an electronic trigger.
Murdock got off two three-round bursts, and turned it over to Jaybird.
“Too much trouble to set up,” Jaybird said. “Yeah, I’m crazy, but I want reliability and mobility. Anyway, I don’t shoot around too many corners these days.”
Most of the other SEALs who tested the new around-the-corner weapon agreed.
Murdock gave Jaybird a move-out signal, and the Platoon Chief rousted the men out into their combat positions in a pair of diamond formations.
Murdock came in front of the formation, and looked over the men.
“Ching, fall out and stand guard over our goods here and our favorite bus. We’re going on a hike, and the doctors don’t want you working that leg as much as we’re going to. You get to do any series of upper-body exercises you want to. We have some free weights in the bus, and there are always push-ups and chin-ups. Give yourself a good hour’s workout.
Then take it easy, and heal up. We want you back going flat out in a week.”
Ching fell out, and Murdock saw a flicker of emotion on the man’s face. He figured it was relief at not having to go on the march.
Murdock led them out on a ten-mile march with full operational loads, including combat vests with standard-issue ammo for the various weapons. Every man also carried two filled canteens, his weapon, a smoke grenade, four hand grenades, a first-aid kit, a plasma kit, twenty-five feet of quarter-inch nylon rope, a weapon field-cleaning kit, a K-bar fighting knife, a large plastic garbage bag, sunscreen, camouflage makeup, sunglasses, water purification tablets, waterproof matches, and four chemical twist-to-start light sticks.
The men wore their desert cammies, with an assortment of headgear ranging from balaclavas to floppy field hats to bandannas.
They headed out for Hill 431, and Murdock led the pace. Halfway there they moved into their combat field diamond formations, with Second Squad leading and Scout Lampedusa a hundred yards out in front.
At the top of the small peak, Murdock spoke into his Motorola, and the men moved into a long line of skirmishers five yards apart along the rim of the hill.
“See that old snag down there that we’ve shot at before?” Murdock said into his lip mike. “That’s the target for today. Machine gunners, give it six bursts of five ro
unds. Bradford, be ready. You’re next with three rounds. Let’s blow that snag away this time. Douglas and Ronson, you may fire when ready.”
When Bradford had fired, Murdock came back on the net. “What’s the range to the snag?” He got several ideas.
“The right answer is two hundred yards. Let’s see who can lay a forty-mike-mike right on the target. Each of you give it four tries.”
The five SEALs equipped with the Colt M-4A1 with the M-203 grenade launcher under the barrel started firing.
After a dozen rounds went out, Murdock came back on the radio.
“Remember, this is like horseshoes and fraggers. Close counts. Nudge them in there.”
When the firing stopped, the desert was so quiet they could hear a hawk call a half mile off.
Murdock lifted his subgun and chattered off six rounds.
“That’s enemy fire from our rear. What’s your first reaction?”
“Get our asses over the ridge and protection on the downslope,” Jaybird called.
“Do it,” Murdock bellowed. The fifteen men jolted over the ridgeline, and six feet down the reverse slope. They crawled back up until they could just see over the ridge, and readied their weapons.
“How about some return fire on those attackers below?” Murdock whispered into his lip mike.
Fifteen weapons sprayed hot lead down the slope ahead of them until Murdock gave them a cease-fire. Murdock pulled the men around him.
“Anybody remember where the hog’s back is?”
“To hell and gone north,” Quinley said.
“Another dog-fucking ten miles,” Ron Holt added.
“True, I have to keep you puppies in shape. You could be coming into some light duty, who knows?”
Jaybird laughed. “Bet you do, Commander. Don Stroh didn’t come out here just to go fishing and have a fish fry.”
“You know anything more, you tell us, Jaybird,” Murdock said.
“Just guessing,” the Platoon Chief said.
“We’ve got company at three o’clock,” Lampedusa said.
Murdock looked out from their ridgeline, and saw a trail of dust spiraling up in the quiet desert air.
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