The SEALs and the sailors all had found cover to use to hide behind so they could fire at the few Kenyan rangers who moved gradually down the pier toward the ship.
"Wish we had the MG," Jaybird said. "You guys got rifles?"
"AK-47s courtesy of our Kenyan friends," Tretter said. "We still got a dozen hand grenades." He threw one toward the Kenyans, and they edged back as the bomb went off just out of range.
"Let's discourage them," Jaybird said. He had a carbine for the mission, and unscrewed the silencer. "Better range," he said. Then he began sniping at the men on the pier.
Soon there were five weapons firing at the Kenyan rangers. They looked confused, not sure whether to storm the boat and leap on board, or stay where they were and fire back.
Return fire against the ship was light. Vuylsteke decided they didn't want to risk hitting their own men who were still on board. Gradually the Kenyan soldiers edged back away from the ship. More of them ran for the deep shadows in front of the warehouse.
"Let's give them something to think about," Lampedusa said. He unhooked a Willy Peter hand grenade from his harness, pulled the pin, and threw it as far as he could toward the rangers. The grenade went off with a spectacular star-burst of furiously burning white phosphorus. Half of it reached the troops spread out on the dock, and they screamed with pain as the unstoppable phosphorus burned through cloth, flesh, and equipment. More than a dozen Kenyan rangers took off, running for the safety of the warehouse across the pier.
On the weather deck below, Murdock's men hugged the starboard side of the Roy Turner's superstructure on both flanks of the quarterdeck door. Red Nicholson crept up, tossed a grenade into the quarterdeck, and leaned back. The bomb went off with a roaring splatter of shrapnel; then Nicholson and Magic Brown charged into the companionway with their MP-5's on auto fire. Magic saw two rangers on the deck trying to get back to their feet. He triggered a three-round burst into each of them.
Nicholson saw a man running out the far end of the companionway, but his rounds reached the area too late. "Quarterdeck clear," Red said into his mike. The two SEALs worked down to the crossing companionway and paused.
Murdock had sent Ross Lincoln aft toward the point where the hangar was built out solidly to the rail. Lincoln darted forward and stopped, then moved again. A Kenyan fired once from behind some fixtures alongside the bulkhead. A searing burst from the Kenyan's AK-47 missed. Lincoln used his M-4A1 on automatic, washing down the free area under the fixtures, and heard a scream of pain.
He charged the area, and saw a Kenyan ranger bringing up his rifle. Lincoln nailed him to the deck with a three-round burst of 9mm rounds into his chest.
On the fantail, DeWitt's squad had the small flight deck in control. Then two weapons fired from the chopper hangar. DeWitt saw one of the big doors rolled half open, ran up the side, and dove through it with his night-vision goggles in place. The total blackness of the inside of the hangar came into a dull green focus.
DeWitt saw the second SH-60B LAMPS chopper tied down. Just behind it someone fired a shotgun, but the pellets slammed out the open door. DeWitt missed his Mossburg shotgun. Instead he carried an MP-5 suppressed, and blasted a six-round burst into the Kenyan hiding there. The man groaned, then spilled to the side as he hit the deck and lay still.
DeWitt rolled to one side and waited. Three rounds from an automatic rifle splattered the spot where he had been moments before. He saw the shooter behind some boxes on the far side of the hangar. He returned fire with two six-round bursts and waited. A moment later he heard a gush of air; then a body hit the floor and a weapon clattered on the non-slip hangar deck.
DeWitt looked around. In the soft green glow he made sure that there were no more men in the hangar.
"Hangar clear," he said into his mike.
Murdock watched the bridge wing. He'd seen movement there before. Now he studied it with the NVGs. Yes. A man lay on the deck with a weapon. He lifted his silenced MP-5 and drilled the area with a half-dozen rounds, then three more. The man lying there bent in half as if in pain, then flopped on the deck and didn't move.
"Companionway crossing the quarterdeck," Nicholson said. "Do we clear it?"
"Hold," Murdock said. "Let's get the topside clear before we move there. Jaybird, can you get to the bridge?"
The Motorola brought the answer. "Think so, L-T. These fuckers on the dock don't look real interested in boarding and getting killed. We've got five guns up here discouraging them. My guess is no leadership."
"Good. Move to the bridge, leave one SEAL with the sailors. Keep up the fire on the dock."
Jaybird crawled forward under the radar search antennas on the tall masts, and then checked the bridge wing. No activity there. He saw one body that didn't move. He listened. Over the gunfire he could hear no one inside the bridge. He held the MP-5 ready as he stepped over a rail and worked closer to the bridge wing. Satisfied that he could hear no firing or movement from the bridge, he leaped onto the wing and covered the bridge interior. No one was there. He went to the far side and checked. No Kenyans.
"Bridge clear," he said to the mike.
On top of the superstructure midships, Vuylsteke watched the pier. Something had changed out there. He couldn't tell what. He edged further behind his protection. A moment later, he heard running steps, and someone pounded down the weather deck to the rail up near the bridge. A Kenyan with no weapon. He charged the rail, jumped over, and landed two feet below on the concrete dock. He lost his balance and went down. Before he could jump up, two slugs from the crewmen's AK47s jolted into him and he screamed and tried to crawl toward the warehouse. He made it five yards, then fell on his face and didn't move.
Vuylsteke motioned to the SEAL beside him. "What's happening out front? Almost looks like they are getting organized."
Joe "Ricochet" Lampedusa had seen the activity too. He keyed his mike. "L-T, something is going on out there on the dock. You can't see it yet. I'd say they're getting ready to assault us. If they do, we could use a few more shooters over on the starboard side."
"That's a Roger. If it happens, let me know. Is the topside clear yet? What kind of an onboard Kenyan body count do we have?"
The men keyed in with the number they had done. When Murdock figured the total, he came up with twelve. There had to be more than that on board — unless some of them deserted the ship when the shooting started. "Bastards are coming," Jaybird said on the Motorola.
"Everyone who can, get starboard and return fire," Murdock said.
Jaybird watched them. There was a line of green-uniformed Kenyans that stretched almost the length of the ship. They came out of the darkness of the long warehouse firing.
Nineteen weapons answered their attack. Six hand grenades sailed into the marching men when they came close enough. The deadly fire of the three sailors and the sixteen SEALs slowed the march, and then pushed the Kenyans back. Seconds later they broke and ran for the darkness they had left.
"Anyone hit?" the Motorola asked. After a pause, Murdock continued. "They'll be back. DeWitt, get two more of your men on the top of the superstructure. The high ground."
"Roger that."
The three sailors slammed in fresh magazines. They had one full one left each, then no more. The SEALs checked their magazines. The men had taken off the suppressors from their carbines. No need for them now, and the added velocity and range would be useful.
"Here they come," Jaybird said.
The line of Kenyan rangers was considerably shorter this time. Murdock figured there were less than a hundred men. The pier was thirty yards wide here. They came out of the darkness at a trot, then broke into a sprint. One after another they were hit by the nineteen guns now shooting at them from the Turner. They still came on.