Pacific Siege sts-8

by Keith Douglass

The three teams hit the water at the same time, using their past training to get the boats through the first breaker, and then over the next one, and into the calm of the Pacific swells.

  All the men were soaking wet by the time they launched the boats, got them through the second four-foot breaker, and crawled inside. They paddled out to the swells, and on a signal from Murdock paddled for the shore, intent on surfing in on the large breakers without upsetting the boats. This could be the dangerous part.

  On exercises for the BUD/S students, each man wore an orange life vest to help him stay afloat in case of a dumped IBS, and to help make finding the swimmers in the surf easier.

  The first boat with Dewitt hit the breaker just right, and surfed along the top for a moment before it nosed down. The men leaned to the rear to keep the front of the boat from digging into the water and getting upended. They made it.

  Murdock watched the second boat go in. Jaybird piloted it, and had it almost to the point to start down the face of the wave, when a larger-than-usual wave caught the boat and, with its tremendous power, tipped it over and sent the five men splashing into the neck-deep water.

  Murdock’s men paddled their boat to the area, and counted bobbing heads.

  “We’re missing one man,” Jaybird screeched at Murdock. The IBS had ridden the foaming water well into shore upside down.

  “Find him!” Murdock bellowed. He dove off his boat into the water just in back of the large breaker. The other four men in his boat did as well, and all tried to search the four-foot-deep water. Sand stirred up by the breakers cut visibility to three or four feet.

  “Walk it,” Murdock yelled when he surfaced. The five men who had been in his boat joined hands with the other four SEALs from the second boat, and they walked across the spot where the boat had flipped.

  Nothing.

  “Again, closer in,” Murdock roared over the pounding noise of the crashing waves.

  They walked again, hoping to find a body on the bottom or being washed out by the rip currents.

  “Here!” Horse Ronson bellowed. He duck-dived, and a moment later came up holding Les Quinley’s head above water. They rushed him to shore, cleared his mouth, then did mouth-to-mouth CPR.

  Doc Ellsworth took the first turn. He had worked barely two minutes when Quinley coughed and spat up water in Doc’s face. Quinley gasped, shuddered, and then began breathing.

  “Jaybird, run up to the quarterdeck and get an ambulance down here fast,” Murdock said. “We’re taking no chances.”

  Three minutes later, Quinley tried to sit up. They told him to stay flat on his back.

  “What happened, Quinley, do you remember?” Murdock asked.

  Quinley frowned, spat up some more salt water, and shook his head.

  “Not much. I saw us going over. Damn wave was the biggest I’ve ever tried to come through. Then we flipped, and something damn hard hit me on the top of my head, and that was it.”

  The Navy ambulance roared up to the soft sand and stopped. A doctor and a corpsman raced across the beach, and knelt beside Quinley.

  “Check him out, Doc,” Murdock said. “We pulled him out of four feet of water. He wasn’t under more than three minutes, maybe four.

  CPR got him breathing again.”

  The Navy doctor checked his chest, then his back, then his pulse.

  “How do you feel?” the doctor asked Quinley. “Fine, sir. Just took a little underwater swim.”

  “A SEAL, right?”

  Quinley nodded.

  “Still, I better check out your gills. Can you walk to the rig?”

  Quinley nodded again, and stood with some help. He wouldn’t lean on anybody while walking through the sand to the ambulance.

  “I’ll be back for chow,” Quinley said.

  Jaybird had the men right the boats and collected the floating oars.

  Murdock looked at the men and shook his head. “No, let’s knock it off for today. Jaybird. Get the boats checked in and dismiss the men.

  We’re on for 0500 tomorrow morning.” The next day he talked to Dewitt about bringing Milly over for the evening about nineteen-thirty, after dinner.

  “Ed, I want Ardith to see that a couple can be together even though one of them is a SEAL. Would Milly be a good example to show to Ardith and to talk about it?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. Sometimes Milly gets really uptight about my staying in the SEALS, especially when we ship out.” He frowned, and paced the small office. “Yeah, I think it will be okay. I’ll tell Milly not to scare her off.” He stopped, and stared at Murdock. “I’d guess you really like this lady.”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid I do. Maybe I like her too much. She’s hoping I’ll take a job running the Navy from the Pentagon in a nice nine-to-five job so I’ll be home every night.”

  “She’s not Navy then.”

  “Her father is a U.S. Senator from Oregon.”

  “Oh, boy.”

  They both laughed. “Then we’ll see you about nineteen-thirty,” Murdock said.

  That night the affair started off politely and innocuously. Then Ardith stood, put down her beer, and frowned.

  “Milly, when Blake told me that you’d be coming over tonight, I figured that you’d be spoon-feeding me the Navy party line. You know, how great it is being with this swabby, and how it’s for the protection of the nation, and how it’s the most patriotic duty that anyone could have anywhere.”

  “By George, I think she’s got it,” Ed said.

  Ardith shot him a serious look, then sat down beside Milly. Ardith was a contrast to Milly. She was tall, blond, and slender. Milly was shorter by a head, with dark hair and eyes and a nearly olive complexion. She was also a little on the chunky side.

  “Now, Milly,” Ardith said. “Tell me exactly what it’s like living with a Navy SEAL, especially how is it when he’s out there somewhere getting himself shot at by the bad guys.”

  Milly took a quick look at Ed, then caught a deep breath. She pointed at Murdock. “You must like this guy quite a lot to be asking about this. At least you won’t be living this problem day in and day out. You’re in Washington, D. C., you said.” She paused.

  “Well, I guess I’ll have to say it’s worth it, living with Ed,” she went on, “despite all the drawbacks of SEAL country, and the separations. The night training, and the odd hours he sometimes has, I can put up with. Every relationship has something like that.

  “It’s these missions they go on that get to me. I didn’t tell Ed for a long time, but I’m on hold while he’s gone. I don’t eat well, I don’t sleep a lot, usually I lose about ten pounds, and I get these migraine headaches.

  “Psychological headaches? Sure, but they still hurt just as bad.

  Now, that’s about all I want Ed to hear. Ardith, why don’t you and I go powder our noses somewhere and have a girl-to-girl talk.”

  The two women went into the kitchen, then into the bedroom.

  Murdock looked at Ed, and shook his head. “Man, did I figure it wrong.

  Sounds like your bringing Milly over here provides Ardith with the final nails in my coffin.”

  “Never can tell. Milly sometimes talks to the jury a little.”

  “Milly know about our orders?”

  “She knows we’re going shortly. Can’t just spring that on her the night before. Takes her a little getting used to each time.”

  “Oh, man. No wonder there are only two of the sixteen of us with live-in women. Maybe SEALs and long-term women don’t mix.”

  “It’s a damn tough mix, Murdock. To make it work there’s got to be a lot of give-and-take on both sides.”

  Murdock looked at the bedroom, and cut off any idea of going in there. That would really do him in. He tried to figure out a defense, but gave up.

  “Isn’t there a Bulls game on?” Ed asked. They watched most of the first half.

  When the women came out of the bedroom, Murdock knew that Ardith had been crying. She’d repaired the damage, but not quite all of it
.

  She waved at Murdock.

  “Hey, Navy guy. I need some help in the kitchen.”

  When he got out there, she closed the door and kissed him soundly, holding him so tightly he wondered where one of them stopped and the other one started. She came away from him slowly, the bright smile back on her pretty face.

  “Now, I hope that made up for the long girl talk we had. We went over a lot of different things. What to expect. How it works when your man leaves. How to handle it. I learned a lot. Did you know that Milly has a master’s degree in electronics, and that she’s an engineer and is the top troubleshooter at an electronics firm that makes all sorts of computer hardware?”

  Murdock shook his head.

  “Milly says she makes three times as much money as Ed does, but it doesn’t bother him,” Ardith added. “Isn’t that fine?”

  They cut the pie and heaped on vanilla ice cream, and Murdock carried the four pie plates on a big tray into the living room.

  “Dessert is served,” Ardith said. Murdock noticed she was sounding too bright and cheerful. That in itself was a bad sign.

  They ate the dessert, talked a while, and found out more than they wanted to know about Milly’s work at the electronics firm. Then Milly said it was time they went home.

  “Five A.M. at the quarterdeck, I hear,” Milly said. “You guys will need a little sleep.”

  When they left, Ardith took Murdock’s hand and led him to the couch. She sat down as close to him as she could get. She kissed him on the cheek, and watched his expression.

  “Hey, don’t look so glum. I’m on your side, remember? Milly and I had a good talk. I learned a lot from that lady. I got some of my priorities straightened out. I’ve been thinking too much about me, me, me. I was making it ninety percent me and ten percent Navy.”

  “But what about-“

  She cut him off with a finger over his lips.

  “Hey, let me finish. I’d be thrilled pink and purple if you would come to D.C. in some Navy capacity. That just isn’t going to happen, not right away at least. You turned down that aide spot to the CNO.

  Gutsy.”

  She paused and kissed him on the lips, then pulled away.

  “I figure the kind of work you’re doing will have active-duty time of about four years. You’ve done two, that leaves two more. The CIA people say the average length of service of their field agents during the peak of the Cold War was about four years. Same here.

  “Now, I think that you and I are smart enough to arrange things so we can have the best of both worlds. Between or after missions, you’ll get some leave time and can come to D.C. Now and then, I can slip away for a week or two out here — say, every two months or so. That kind of an arrangement I can live with. What do you think?”

  Murdock grinned, and put his arms around her. He kissed her with clear intent. She edged away.

  “Really, what do you think of my suggestion?”

  “I think it’s a great idea. I also think that State should have you in the Middle East negotiating that Arab-Israeli thing. It would be settled in two weeks flat.”

  She laughed, and kissed him again.

  “I think that was a yes,” she said. “Now, as in any serious negotiations, we must seal the bargain. I think the bedroom is over there.”

  Murdock led the way. It was the best negotiations he’d been in for a long time, and the bargain-sealing lasted half the night.

  The next three days flashed by so fast Murdock hardly remembered what training he and the SEALs went through. When the morning came for their departure, he had come in an hour late after a long good-bye with Ardith.

  “I don’t want you to go, but as a good Navy woman, I won’t tell you that,” she’d said. “I’ll smile, and kiss you good-bye, and cry on my own damn time.”

  He’d kissed her again, put her in a cab for the airport, and driven his Bronco to the SEALs parking lot outside the quarterdeck. It was time.

  It was a bare-bones trip. Each man took only his issue weapon and alternates, but no ammunition. They had their combat vests and rebreathers, but no IBS — Inflatable Boat Small — or any grenades.

  “I’m not sure how long it will take us to get there,” Murdock said.

  “The Pacific is a big ocean, but there doesn’t seem to be any hurry-up on this trip. We might even get fed on the way. We’ll take along two MREs per man just in case. Any questions?”

  “This floating bathtub will have everything we need if we get a hot call?” Jaybird asked.

  “If they don’t when we get there, I’ll requisition it and have a COD fly it on board. The Monroe should have everything we need.”

  When they got to North Island Naval Air Station two miles through Coronado, they found a Gulfstream II jet waiting for them. The slightly modified large executive jet could take nineteen passengers.

  It carried a Navy crew of three, and had a maximum ceiling of 42,000 feet and a top cruise speed of 581 miles an hour. The maximum range was 3,275 miles. Murdock figured they might make three stops: Honolulu, Wake Island, and Tokyo. He didn’t even know if the U.S. had an airfield at Wake Island anymore.

  Murdock looked over the craft as they waited to board. The low wing had a 25-degree leading-edge sweep, a 3-degree dihedral from the roots, and low wing fences at midspan.

  The trailing edge showed one-piece, and single-slotted, Fowler flaps inboard of the inset ailerons.

  The T-shaped tail had a broad, shallowly swept vertical fin with a small dorsal fillet and full-height rudder. On the top of the tail were swept, horizontal stabilizers with full-span elevators.

  He knew it had dual Rolls-Royce turbofan engines with Rohr thrust reversers mounted on short stubs located high on the rear fuselage. It used wing tanks for fuel storage. The entry door was on the forward left side between the flight deck and the passengers’ cabin. There were five oval porthole windows on each side of the fuselage.

  He decided it would do. Better than a lumbering C-130 for the long flight. He figured the food service would be lousy.

  A few minutes later, they climbed on board, stowed their vests and weapons, and settled down into real commercial-airliner-type seats for the ride. Everyone was safely on board when a crew chief checked them and nodded. A moment later a blue-clad woman came out of the flight deck and watched them for a minute.

  “Oh, stewardess,” a SEAL voice called.

  The woman smiled, and turned so they could see the railroad tracks of a full lieutenant on her collar. She was grinning.

  “An easy mistake to make, sailor, but don’t do it again. I’m Lieutenant Frazier, and I’m your pilot on this milk run. We’ll stop in Honolulu for you to stretch your legs and fill your stomachs. I hope you have a good flight.”

  11

  Tuesday, 20 February

  USS Monroe, CVN 81

  Off Sendai, Japan

  Murdock and his platoon settled into quarters on board the big aircraft carrier as it plowed north in moderate seas toward the Tsugaru Strait between the northern Japanese Island of Hokkaido and the big island of Honshu.

  The jet had made three stops. Then, at a field near Tokyo, a COD had lifted them off the ground, and put them down on a pitching deck in choppy seas on board the carrier working north along the Japanese coast.

  It had been a good ride.

  The carrier had been off Sendai steaming south when word came from CINCPAC to reverse directions. The quickest way to North Korea lay through the Tsugaru Strait between Honshu and Hokkaido, rather than going all the way down and around Honshu, and maybe even Kyushu, before turning north six hundred miles to come close to North Korea.

  Stroh had sent them a packet of material giving background on the Korean situation, what the North had been doing, and how the U.S. and the South Koreans had responded. It didn’t look good to Murdock. He had never trusted the North Koreans; now it looked like they were about to make good on an oft-threatened drive to unify the peninsula.

  Once on board, Murdock an
d Jaybird worked with their carrier liaison, Lieutenant Commander Boliling, to draw the ammunition, additional weapons, and supplies that they wanted to have on hand for immediate selection in case they were alerted for a definite mission.

  They brought in four IBSS, and left them as uninflated as they could be. Jaybird had his lists and requisition forms. He ordered wet suits for each man, extra cammies, a second SATCOM radio as a backup, and a hundred other items that the platoon might need if, or when, it went into action.

  Murdock went to the wardroom, found an unused phone tap, and plugged in his laptop computer to send an E-mail to Master Chief Mackenzie back in Coronado.

  “Master Chief Mackenzie. Request an E-mail report to Murdocsealussmonroe. Navy. mil. Will check my E-mail daily until we move into action. So far Mahanani is working well with the platoon.” He had no unread mail, so he closed up and went back to his quarters.

  The weird time change hit the platoon hard. They had crossed the International Date Line, and automatically they were about a day ahead.

  Not a whole day, but enough to ruin their sleep pattern for a day or two.

  By the third day nothing new had come over Murdock’s E-mail. They were back on schedule by then, and Murdock got the SEALs to an area they were assigned to on deck for PT and jogging. Murdock never got tired of watching the catapults throw the 74,000-pound Tomcats into the air.

  They went from a dead stop to something over 140 miles an hour in five seconds.

  The big ship ran into some nasty weather just south of the strait, and had to lay off the tip of Honshu for a day before they entered the narrow Tsugaru Strait.

  At 1043, Murdock was summoned to the Communications Center.

  Admiral Kenner, commander of the carrier task force, stood to one side looking worried.

  “Murdock, you’re on the horn to D. C.” a captain said the moment the SEAL stepped into the room. “Somebody by the name of Stroh.”

  Murdock picked up the hand mike. “Murdock here.”

  “Good, they finally tracked you down. Things are blowing up over there. Not in Korea. We’ve got a hell of a problem up there in Japan, just north of you a ways. The Monroe and her carrier task force commander have new orders. Now you get yours. Your full platoon is now on standby alert.