Deathrace sts-7

by Keith Douglass

  "Oh, yeah, Washington, you bought a good one. Hit the bone and didn't come out. We'll let the real Navy doctors on the carrier take care of it." He bandaged it up and slipped the shirt back in place except for the sleeve. Doc gave him three pain pills. "You take it easy. We'll have you in sick bay inside of an hour."

  "How's Magic?" Murdock asked the medic.

  "Don't know. He hasn't complained. Magic? Where the hell are you?"

  They stared around the cramped inside of the Seahawk.

  "Hey, he's over here," Kat said. "Looks like he's passed out."

  Twenty minutes later they were nearing the big aircraft carrier in the Persian Gulf. It had steamed down close to Dubayy of the United Arab Emirates to cut down on flying time.

  Magic had come around once, grinned, waved at them, and drifted off to sleep.

  "He's been running on empty for the past day and a half," Doc said. "Living on guts and hope. That leg wound really drained him, then he kept hiking along with the rest of us. There's got to be a ton of infection in that leg."

  "We'll land in fifteen minutes," the crew chief told them.

  A half hour later, on board the USS Monroe CVN 81, Murdock and DeWitt saw their people into sick bay. Kat got quick treatment. They took Washington into surgery to dig out the slug. Magic was another matter.

  "Massive infection," a Navy surgeon said. "He's lucky to be alive. Another twenty-four hours and it would have eaten him up. Good work getting that bullet out. We'll go after the infection with antibiotics. He should be up and around in a month."

  "When can he fly back to Balboa Naval Hospital?" Murdock asked.

  "Two days, Lieutenant. Not before."

  Murdock went for a telephone chat with Don Stroh, then had the biggest steak the mess could provide.

  An hour later, Murdock was in his quarters when a knock came on the door. He opened it. Kat stood there looking washed and combed in a clean pair of cammies, with her railroad tracks on her collar.

  "You keep those bars of rank with you all the time?" Murdock asked.

  "Hey, you said to. May I come in?"

  He stepped back, and she went in and sat on a chair.

  "So, we made it, we survived," Kat said.

  "Now we start thinking about having a life, again."

  "I've been wondering about that. I think I'm through tearing nukes apart. As beneficial as it might be. I've always liked research."

  "You shouldn't have any trouble finding a spot. Maybe at M.I.T. or Cal Tech."

  "No, I don't want that much pressure. Lower expectations, lower stress, more time to have a life."

  "Good thinking. Hey, I'd like to give you a medal, Kat, but I can't do that. You probably saved my life out there, but it's all one big, dark secret."

  "I know. I can tell some civilian what I did, but then I'd have to kill him. I know."

  "Any regrets?"

  "Well, I'm not sure I wanted to find out how it felt to kill another human being. Three, in fact, maybe more."

  "How does it feel, Kat?"

  "Part of it damn good, especially those two bushwhackers who came up behind us. I cried after the first one. But then the old bugaboo about surviving came to the fore, and I had to cope with that. Survive first, get a life afterwards."

  "You'll do fine, Kat."

  "What about you?"

  "I have another part of my life waiting for me in Washington, D.C."

  "That would be Ardith Manchester, beautiful lawyer type."

  "You knew that all along?"

  "Sure, I research more than physics when I take on a job." The phone on the desk rang. Kat shrugged, lifted it off the set, and gave him the handset.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Murdock. Stroh. I've had half that damn carrier force trying to find Kat. Any idea where she is? Somebody here wants to talk to her."

  "I think I could find her. Just a minute." He handed Kat the phone. "It's for you."

  Kat took the handset. "Yes, this is Katherine Garnet."

  "May I call you Kat?" the booming voice came.

  She frowned. "Yes, of course."

  "Don Stroh here has been telling me what a great job you did becoming a SEAL for a week. We're all proud of you here at the White House."

  "The White House?"

  The voice on the other end chuckled. "Don didn't tell you. This is President Mason, and I want you to be sure to stop over and see the First Lady and me as soon as you get to Washington. Have Murdock bring you. I need to talk to him as well. Just wanted to offer my congratulations. You might have prevented World War Three, or at least some disastrous fighting among the Arab states. You rest up now. Don says you're due to fly home in two days."

  "Yes, and thank you. Thank you very much, Mr. President."

  "Don't mention it. You get that arm healed up now, y'hear?"

  "Yes, sir." The line went dead and Kat hung up the phone, a strange smile growing on her face. "The President," she said.

  Murdock grinned. "I guessed as much. Hell, won't be any getting along with you now for the next three days."

  "Shut up, Murdock, and buy me a Coke. Shouldn't you be checking on the troops or something. I thought us SEALs took care of our own."

  "Just about to do that. Most of them should be sleeping by now. Let's go check them out."

  Tuesday, November 8

  1040 hours

  Third Platoon HQ

  Coronado, California

  Four days later, Murdock stretched out in his office chair and relaxed. Magic Brown was safely tucked away in Balboa Naval Hospital in San Diego. The doctors were surprised how the infection had spread, and repeated how lucky he had been not to lose the leg. The evaluation was that he would need a month of bed rest, massive medications, then two weeks of rehab before he could start to work out with the platoon again.

  Fred Washington's shoulder was on the mend. The bullet had done no damage to his shoulder bones and he'd be good as new in three weeks.

  Kat had been treated at Balboa and released. She had taken a commercial nonstop flight from San Diego's Lindbergh Field the next morning. Murdock had her phone number and would contact her when he got to D.C. in a week or so.

  He was helping Jaybird get the men on week-long passes, and the squad room was half-empty.

  When the phone rang, he let it go four times, then figured Jaybird wasn't around.

  "Yes, Third Platoon."

  "Made it back, I hear."

  "Stroh, don't you ever sleep?"

  "It's the middle of the day. Just wanted to say hi."

  "Hi, Stroh."

  "Oh, the President is as happy as a mud turtle in a hen house. Says the Iranians are mad as hell, but can't figure out who to blame. They couldn't nail down whose jets or chopper invaded their sovereign airspace and soil, but they won't openly admit they were working on nuclear bombs. Our experts say they can't get anything built now for at least three years. Everyone will watch what they sell to Iran that could be used in a nuke."

  "Good. Tell the President to remember me when I go up for my next stripe."

  "You, full Commander? Then they wouldn't let you go out to play with the dangerous toys."

  "Sure they would. I've seen some three-stripers in the field."

  "Not much anymore. At least not working your special gig. Hey, I was just wondering what you know about the New Russian Navy."

  "Not a damned thing, and I don't want to know. I've got a month's leave coming and I'm taking it. As a wise person told me in the middle of that country over there. 'First we survive, then we find a life.' I'm going to take a shot at finding a life. And Stroh. Don't call me. You'll probably know where I am, but unless the President has a serious health problem, or the moon spins out of orbit, don't call me."

  "Yeah, sure, big guy. Like always. You stop by and see me when you're in D.C., and say hello to that sweet little girl, Ardith."

  "Good-bye, Don."

  "Good-bye, Murdock."

  Tuesday, November 15

  1400 hour
s

  Surfside Motel

  Cannon Beach, Oregon

  Ed DeWitt had been back from Iran for over a week now. For the last four days he hadn't even thought about the SEALS. It was new territory for him. He had taken a two-week leave. He and Milly were on what they called a pre-honeymoon. They drove up the long California coast toward Oregon, stopping at every small town and village. They shopped, and ate all sorts of unusual foods, bartered with the natives, and chilled out on the scenery and good company.

  Now they lay on lounges watching the Pacific pound against the shore at Cannon Beach, Oregon. The sun had just rimmed the horizon and sparkled a hundred shades of pink, deep reds, and purples into the generous spread of Oregon clouds.

  "I may never go back," DeWitt said, sipping a cold beer.

  Milly grinned. "Says who? We've got one more week. In about five days you'll get up and scan the international headlines. You'll call the quarter deck once a day to see what's going on in Third Platoon. You'll worry about how Fred Washington's shoulder is healing."

  She sipped at her beer. "Hey, Ed. I wouldn't want it any other way. If you didn't do those things, you wouldn't be you. I fell in love with the real you. In spite of all the damned drawbacks — the danger, the outrageous things they ask you guys to do — I guess I wouldn't have that any other way as well."

  "Woman, you make a lot of sense. Now rub my back." She did. "I had the idea to rub you somewhere else."

  "Not out here."

  They hadn't talked about Kat. Milly kept rubbing his back, then massaged his shoulders.

  "Tell me about Kat. How did she do?"

  "Like one of the guys, honest. She was a lady, who killed at least three of them. She probably saved the lives of one or two of Murdock's squad when three guys came up behind them. She heard them, turned, and cut down two of them with her submachine gun. The third one ran."

  "That's enough. I don't want you to tell me so much you'll have to kill me. I'm glad she did well. Terribly happy that she didn't mess up and somebody else got killed. End of talk."

  She stood and caught his hand. "Now, inside where there's a little privacy. I have something else I want to talk with you about. Body talk I guess you'd call it."

  Ed DeWitt grinned. "Yeah, let's call it that."

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