Pacific Siege sts-8

by Keith Douglass

  “Can we get on his frequency, Home Base?”

  “Go to TAC Two, that should do it. Home Base out.”

  Holt switched the SATCOM set to TAC two.

  “SEAL calling Night Fly.”

  “Hey, ground-bound SEALS. This is Night Fly. I have one rig moving north.”

  “That’s us in a six-by. Any other lights heading that way?”

  “Not a one. I’ll keep watch.”

  “Thanks, we’ll stay tuned.”

  General Nishikawa had received a radio call five minutes after the first jeep was hit by enemy fire. One of his sentries had seen the attack by the camouflaged invaders. The frightened soldier had wept.

  He’d said some new weapon had blasted his friends in the jeep, and they’d fallen to the ground apparently dead. There had been no sound of a rifle, no explosion, just a gentle hiss and then the men had gone down.

  The general had been at the southernmost point of the island, around from the bay, and had reacted at once. He’d ordered his second in command to strengthen the force at the bay, set up a machine gun, and prepare for the invasion. He’d guessed that the commandos who had attacked had come to weaken his defenses before the main body invaded through the bay.

  Again, the Russians had violated their own agreement to give him seven days. He figured the Russians would attack the HQ, so he didn’t return there. Instead he turned the lights off on his jeep and proceeded slowly out of town and north up the coast road. Soon he passed the first outpost. He had taken a six-by-six truck with him, and twenty men fully armed. They would be his personal guard. Now it looked like good planning.

  He made one call on the walkie-talkie radio for all outposts to report. Only the three north of the city checked in. The one on the bay evidently had been captured.

  Quickly he assessed his resources. He had his twenty men, all armed. He had the two vehicles. Not much of an army. The outposts would surely fall soon. But by that time he would be in his backup position. Only yesterday he had completed stocking the supplies in the hideout.

  It was not totally impregnable, but it would be hard to take with regular troops. That part he had planned well. So much for his lofty dreams. At least he had brought to the world stage and the world press the plight of the thousands of Japanese who could not worship their ancestors. The injustice of the giveaway of the Kuril Islands chain and the inhumanity of uprooting thousands of Japanese and rushing them away from their ancestral homes had now become known throughout the world.

  Perhaps he had made one small footnote in history. Thousands of Japanese would thank him for his efforts. He would have a small legacy to leave to the Japanese people whether he succeeded or not. The matter had to be addressed sometime, someday. Why not now? He wondered if he was far enough away from the village to turn on the trucks’ headlights.

  They could go twice as fast with the lights on. He hesitated. Another few miles just to be safe.

  In the captured six-by-six army truck on the coast road heading north, Ching turned up the volume on the walkie-talkie and listened again. It was the fucking Japanese general. If they could receive him, they could talk to him.

  “Hey, Commander, listen to this.” Ching gave the set to Murdock, who hit the listen button. He looked up.

  “Who is it?”

  “The bastard Japanese general. If we can hear him, we can talk to him. Should I try?”

  Murdock laughed and nodded. “Fucking right. Tell him we have control of his headquarters, have captured twenty-five of his men, and released the Russian prisoners. See what he says.”

  Ching waited for the general to finish his transmission, then spoke in Japanese.

  “General Nishikawa. This is the United States Navy force that has come to move you off this Russian island. We have captured your headquarters and released the Russian prisoners. Do you receive me, General?”

  There was a pause. Ching shrugged and said it again. “Do you read me, General Nishikawa?”

  Another short pause, then a tired voice answered. “Yes, I receive you. And I put a curse of a thousand years on you and your issue. You have disrupted the legitimate challenge of a whole people to be able to worship as they see fit, to sit at the graves of their ancestors and commune with them. Diplomats have taken this right away from us, and you and your kind are to blame as well for enforcing the diplomats’ shame.

  “Yes, I hear you, but will the world hear the waiting and gnashing of teeth, the screams of our ancestors’ spirits as their sacred graves are desecrated, bulldozed away, razed and torn down so some Russian may raise a pod of peas?”

  “General, it is time to come in, to submit to our control and end this whole military campaign,” Ching said. “That will allow you to continue to wage your civilian campaign, your political effort to have some of the islands restored to Japan so your ancestors may be once again consecrated and protected.” There was another pause as the truck rolled along the dirt roadway. “Could I ask if you are Japanese?” the general said.

  “No, I am Chinese.”

  The air was dead for some time.

  “General, are you still with me?”

  “Yes, I am here.”

  “It is time for you to put down your arms, to order your men not to fire, and to come in to the village and surrender. There is no dishonor in ending a good fight with an honorable closure.”

  “I will never surrender.”

  “The lives of your men depend on your decision. Are you willing to see them slaughtered by overwhelming forces, just so you can have your last moment of glory?”

  “Yes, more than willing. You may never find me.”

  “We will find you. We have many ways. For instance, right now our surveillance planes are tracking your radio signal.”

  “That is not true. I am not stupid. It would take triangulation by at least three receivers to locate my signal. You don’t have that.

  But it was a good try.”

  In the dead air time, Ching turned to Murdock and summarized what they had said, and the position of the general that he would never surrender, even if it meant the deaths of all of his men.

  “Afraid of that,” Murdock said. “He’s on the Japanese warrior crusade. We’ll have to dig him out, wherever he lights. Try him again.”

  “General Nishikawa. My commander understands your position. He wants to meet with you, face to face, and negotiate.” There was no response, only dead air.

  Ching tried to contact the general again, but he had no answer.

  “He’s probably turned his set off,” Ching said. Murdock looked ahead with his NVGs. “It was a good try. Do you have an evaluation of him?”

  “I’d say he’s a typical Japanese warrior. He’ll go flat out for what he believes. I also got the impression that there’s something of the samurai in him. No idea how that might play out in a showdown.”

  “That’s what we’ll have, it looks like. A showdown. The only trouble is, he’s been here longer than we have. He probably researched the place before he came. He might know of some places to hide out and defend that we don’t.”

  The big truck rumbled on at twenty miles an hour on the rutty, pothole-filled road near the Pacific Ocean.

  Five minutes later, Murdock heard his SATCOM radio speak.

  “SEALS, this is Night Fly. Did you get that transmission from Home Base on TAC One?”

  “Negative, Night Fly,” Ron Holt said.

  “Home Base says they have radar showing a Russian hovercraft fast approaching the southern shore of your island somewhere north of the village. They assume it’s a Russian landing of troops, Marines or commandos.”

  “We’ll switch to TAC One, Night Fly, thanks.” Holt turned the knobs.

  “Home Base, this is SEAL.”

  “Yes, SEAL. We have a possible landing by the Russians. We’ll give you an approximate site in tenths of a mile north of the village of Golovnino. It looks like they will be landing to the north.”

  Murdock took the mike. “Und
erstood, Home Base. This is Murdock.

  Can the admiral talk to Admiral Rostow? We have the situation under control. There is no need for Russian troops.”

  “Negative, Commander. We’ve tried twice to reach the admiral on the right frequency, but the Russians do not respond. We believe they’re mad about that hovercraft we shot up.”

  “Roger that. Give us that landing spot as soon as possible. We’re about five miles north of the village. We’ll hold here for the landing location.”

  “SEALS. You might want to reverse course. The hovercraft is past that position already. Estimate they are three miles from the village.”

  “Will do, Home Base.” Murdock punched Douglas. “Turn it around and motor three miles back south and watch the surf for company.”

  They rode back the way they had come. At the three-mile mark, they stopped and waited. “Turn off the motor,” Murdock said. They listened.

  Lam heard it first.

  “Something out there is making noise, Commander. Could be the damn Ruskies slipping into shore.”

  “With a hovercraft you don’t sneak in anywhere,” Jaybird cracked.

  Then they all heard it. The hovercraft was coming at the beach fast, and couldn’t be more than a quarter of a mile away.

  “Put up a white flare,” Murdock said. “Then we’ll see how in hell we can meet these guys without both of us getting our asses shot off.”

  23

  Thursday, 22 February

  Kunashir Island

  Kuril Chain, Russia

  Murdock watched the white flare burst fifty yards at sea. The road swung within seventy-five yards of the beach here. When the flare died, Murdock pulled down his NVGs and watched the water. At first he could see only the Pacific waves rolling into the sandy beach. “Everyone out, disperse along the road and in cover,” Murdock said in the lip mike.

  The SEALS left the six-by and spread out along the road ten yards apart.

  The sound of the hovercraft increased.

  “Try them on TAC Two, Holt,” Murdock said. “Tell them there are friendly U.S. forces in front of them. We fired the star shell.”

  Holt sent the message twice, but had no response.

  “Don’t think they heard you, SEALS,” the radio reported. “This is Night Fly One. They’re damned near the beach.”

  “Thanks, Night Fly One,” Holt said. “We’ve got them.”

  “Fire another white flare,” Murdock said. Jaybird fired one over the edge of the beach. It burst, and now in the glow, they could see the hovercraft heading straight at the beach fifty yards south of them.

  “Ching, on me,” Murdock snapped on the Motorola.

  Ching ran up, and flattened out beside Murdock.

  “You and me, Ching. We’re getting as close to that landing area as possible. When the hovercraft motors stop and it goes quiet, I want you to yell at them in Russian that the United States SEALs are here and we’re friendly. Ask them to hold their fire.”

  When they’d checked the Russian hovercraft in the book on the carrier, Murdock saw that this larger boat had four 30mm/65’s with twin-mounting AK630’s with six barrels per mounting. They could fire three thousand rounds a minute up to two kilometers. Murdock didn’t want them to think they had to soften up their landing site with a few thousand rounds.

  Murdock’s request to hold fire was said so the rest of the men heard it on the radio. Then Murdock and Ching rose up and ran bent over toward where the Russian hovercraft would come out of the waves and power straight up on the beach over the sand. It would continue over the grass and land until the drivers wanted to stop it.

  The pair was still twenty yards from the big craft when its fans blew dry sand into a cloud as they rammed the air-cushioned craft onto the beach and across it, and came to rest on the dry land covered by grass and weeds.

  The big propellers pushing the craft forward slowed and died. The huge fans that had lifted the boat on a cushion of air off the water and the land wound down. A minute and a half after the craft came to a halt, the last motor sounds faded to silence.

  Murdock tapped Ching on the shoulder.

  Ching took a deep breath and yelled in Russian.

  “Hey, Russian friends. Hold your fire. We are United States SEALs here putting down the Japanese invaders.”

  He stopped, and both men dug low against the ground in case of any Russian fire. Nothing happened. Ching yelled out his welcome again.

  Two minutes later, a thin voice came back. Ching translated.

  “How do we know you are friendly? You disabled one of our hovercrafts and killed three men.”

  “If we had not been friendly your craft would have been sunk,” Ching said in Russian. He whispered what he had said to Murdock, who nodded. There was a long silence. “Tell them about the prisoners and the HQ,” Murdock said. “We have captured the military headquarters building and twenty-five Japanese soldiers. We have released your local Russian garrison from the Japanese prison. They now control the HQ.

  Contact them on your radios for confirmation.”

  “We hear you,” the Russian voice answered. Again they waited.

  Then the Russians answered with a new voice in English. “We have talked with our men in the headquarters. You speak the truth. Send out two of your officers for a conference. Come to the lighted area near our bow.”

  A moment later a light blossomed at the front of the dark hovercraft.

  “Let’s go talk,” Murdock said. “You did good, Ching. Remind me to tell you that later.”

  They stood and walked toward the pool of light. Fifteen yards from the light they were aware of men lifting out of the darkness and following them.

  “Always nice to be escorted,” Ching said.

  “Tell them we’re coming in,” Murdock said.

  “We’re coming in,” Ching said in Russian. “We’re about ten yards out with your troops behind us.”

  “Good,” the voice said in English. “We would give you a typical Russian welcome, but you can understand our suspicions.”

  They saw a Russian then, standing in the light. He was dressed all in black, wore a floppy hat, and carried a submachine gun. When he saw them, he lowered the weapon and held out his hand.

  “Hello, Americans, and welcome to Russian territory. I am Captain Radiwitch.”

  Murdock took another few steps and gripped the Russian’s hand.

  “Hello yourself, Captain Radiwitch. I’m Commander Murdock of the U.S. Navy SEALS.”

  Murdock’s EAR weapon was held in one hand and pointing down. Ching had also lowered the muzzle of his EAR.

  “What happens now, American?”

  “Now we work together. The little general who started this is still at large. We’re not sure where he is. We have two Russians with us who were in the garrison here. They can help us find the rest of the renegades.”

  “I will talk with our commander,” the captain said. “Wait the moment one, please.” He vanished out of the light, and two soldiers with weapons slung moved into his place.

  “Send over the two Russians,” Murdock said into his mike. “Ching, tell the two guards here that two Russians are coming from the darkness.” Into the lip mike Murdock said: “The rest of you SEALs stay put. We don’t want any accidents here. Wait until we get total agreement and clearance. It looks like a friendly situation, so far.”

  As he finished whispering into the mike, two men came into the light. One was the captain; the other had silver leaves on his epaulets. He was not dressed in black, but in the traditional Russian winter uniform. He stepped forward and held out his hand.

  Murdock took it. “I’m pleased to meet you, Colonel. I’m Commander Murdock, Navy SEALS.”

  The Russian looked to the captain, who translated. Then the colonel smiled and shook his hand again.

  “I am Lieutenant Colonel Hartzloff, in charge of this strike. How many men do you have?” Ching translated.

  “I have fifteen SEALS, Colonel.” The captain tr
anslated.

  The colonel nodded. “I have a hundred, all seasoned veterans.” He paused. “You have done all of this so far with only sixteen men?”

  “We’re specialists in this kind of work, Colonel. Have you talked to your men at the headquarters building?”

  The colonel nodded. “We have. They tell me you have weapons that shoot men and put them to sleep, but don’t kill them. How do you do this?”

  “Sorry, we can’t tell you that, Colonel. What we can do is work together on this problem, and bring the Japanese general to bay before it gets light.”

  The translation took longer this time.

  The two Russians from the SEAL group walked into the edge of the light.

  They said something in Russian, and the colonel smiled.

  “So, they are helping you. Have they told you where this rebel general might be?”

  “No, sir. We’re taking out the defensive outposts as we come to them and working north.”

  Murdock’s earphone spoke. He held up one finger and listened.

  “Skipper, Holt. The Night Fly boys tell me they have a two-truck or two-car convoy out about twenty klicks and heading north along the Pacific side.”

  “They have a guess, Holt?”

  “No, sir, but I do. Got to be the general and the rest of his men.”

  “Thanks, Holt. Stay in contact with the pilot. We’ve got to do some planning.” Murdock took a step toward the colonel. “One of our aircraft reports a two-truck convoy about twenty kilometers to the north. We believe it is the general. I have a suggestion.”

  The colonel waited for his translator to do his work.

  “So?”

  “We divide your force. A third of it can move to the road and use the six-by-six truck there. They can continue to suppress the outpost north of here three or four kilometers. There may be no one there.

  Then these men can fan out and secure the rest of the island, and work back to the village.”

  The Russian nodded when he had the words translated.

  “Then what?” the translator asked.

  “Then our fifteen men join you on your hovercraft, and we go back up the coast twenty kilometers. We land, find the truck convoy, and engage the general and his forces. Either he surrenders or his entire force is killed.”