A pair of AK-47s pounded off two bursts each from behind the rig, and were met with a withering volley of small-arms rounds. That was the last activity that came from the Kenyan vehicle.
Murdock waited five minutes. Already he had sensed new sounds on the Turner. The main engines must be turning over. Murdock took the mike from Holt, who had been beside him during the firing.
"Knight One, I'd say you have a safe landing zone now. That's a go-ahead to land."
"Inflatable, that's a Roger. ETA is about two minutes."
The big chopper settled gracefully to the steady deck aft, and twenty more sailors rushed from the rig into the hangar deck and to their pre-assigned duties on board the fast frigate. Seconds after the men cleared the Sea King, the hatch door slammed and it took off into the black Kenyan sky.
Murdock and the Marines remained as guards on the starboard side of the Roy Turner.
More sounds rumbled in the big ship. More lights came on, and Murdock saw lookouts posted where they were supposed to be.
Murdock settled down to wait. On the carrier, they had told him it could take from five minutes to an hour to get the Turner ready to ease away from the dock and start its trip down the channel. It would depend on what condition she was in, what damage had been done by the layover, and if any of the vital components had been shot up during the retaking of the craft.
Thirty minutes after the last chopper landed, Murdock saw sailors casting off the lines that tied the Roy Turner to the dock. A second lieutenant with the Marines stationed half of them on both sides around the bow and half of them on the stern.
Murdock touched his throat mike. "Looks like we may have a wrap on this part of our job," Murdock said. "Casualty report."
Doc Ellsworth came on the Motorola. "L-T, we've got one serious I know of. Ted Yates took an AK-47 round in his lower leg. One bone is broken for sure, maybe both of them."
"We have a splint?"
"Not that I know of. He's resting easy. We'll wait for the carrier's corpsmen. He's had a shot of morphine."
"Any others? Speak up, guys. I need to know now."
"I scraped my face on this damn no-skid deck, does that count?" Lincoln asked.
"Not if you can see out of both eyes," Murdock said. "Ronson, Nicholson, and Brown. How are those old wounds?"
They each came on pretending to be not sure what their lieutenant was talking about. In the end they all said they hurt like hell but they would live, and wouldn't be cut out on the next phase of the mission.
"Yeah, we've got to do some high and mighty planning on that one," Murdock said. "Politics is gonna be a factor here soon."
Murdock kept his troops on alert until the frigate moved all the way down the channel and out past the little village on the north shore. In a few minutes, the frigate would come alongside the big carrier, and then the troops could really relax.
General Umar Maleceia had taken off his military jacket and loosened his tie. His shirt showed sweat stains in his armpits and a streak down his chest. He held a long cigar, but hadn't been smoking it. His fury fell on his second in command, Colonel Jomo Kariuki, who stood across the desk from the big commander in chief.
"What the hell you mean, you just heard? You sent that tank and the men out after the ship hours ago."
"The phone lines are not-"
"Phone? Why the hell do we have radios?"
"My general, they are not that reliable. I couldn't get through. I phoned and at last-"
General Maleceia threw a paperweight at the colonel, and hit him in the chest. The colonel backed up rubbing the bruise.
"The tank was destroyed by a missile, the personnel carrier was burned up by white phosphorous grenades, he said. "I have confirmed reports that the U.S. Navy ship left the pier, and then left the port at about 2120."
"Gawd damn!" The general dropped into his large leather swivel chair and leaned back. "I've got nothing left to negotiate with. No trump cards, not a gawddamned thing."
"Sir, we still have our Navy ship and two or three aircraft."
"Sure, send them against the task force out there? Hell, they have a carrier with probably a hundred fighters on the decks, and all sorts of helicopters with missiles, and the missiles from all the covering ships. I've seen them operate. Nothing can get through that screen of missiles, let alone three little ships and a couple of outdated fighters."
"Sir, if I may ask. What is next for us?"
Maleceia picked up an in basket from his desk and threw it at the colonel. He missed. "Next? How the hell do I know? It depends what the Americans do. If they're satisfied with getting their ship back and sail away, we might hang on here yet. If they attack, then the whole thing may collapse."
The telephone rang. Colonel Kariuki leaned over and picked it up. He listened a moment, shook his head, and hung up.
"What? What?"
"I'm afraid some bad news. The TV station and the radio station here in Nairobi have fallen to forces loyal to the President. Our men walked away and refused to fight them."
"Bastards. Cowards. Have them all shot."
"I can't do that, my general. They all went back to the President's side. They took the whole barracks with them. About a thousand men here in Nairobi."
General Maleceia stood and paced the length of the room. He went to the windows and looked out.
"Double the guards around the headquarters. Bring out all of the machine-gun mounted small jeeps we have. Get all of our fifty-calibers out and manned. Make damn sure there is no problem with deserters here. If anyone tries to desert, shoot him on the spot."
Colonel Kariuki saluted the stiffened back of his general, and hurried out of the office to put the new guard orders into effect. It would certainly keep anyone from leaving, and it might keep out a minor attack. Did the President still have any units loyal to him that had tanks? He couldn't remember.
The colonel smiled. If things went from this bad to much worse, he had his own plans. He still had his civilian clothes. He also had the Mercedes stashed in a private area not even the enlisted men knew about. He could be out of the complex, through Nairobi, and into Tanzania in two hours. He had a supply of U.S. dollars and South African rand gold pieces that would last him the rest of his life. Yes, it paid to make plans well in advance.
19
Murdock and DeWitt stood beside the hospital bed and watched Ted Yates come out of the general anesthesia. It had been a bad break of both bones. The fibula was shattered. They'd had to do some reconstruction, inserting a rod and some pinning and wiring.
Doc Ellsworth had watched the operation, and he was still showing the sweat. "Damn, but them guys are good. They pasted old Yates back together like he was a rag doll. He'll be almost as good as new."
Murdock nodded. Almost. He'd been through it several times before. There was no chance that Yates would be able to stand up under the strenuous rigors of a SEAL's life. He would be back to the regular Navy for the rest of his hitch, and his career.
"Yates, Ted Yates," Doc called. "Hey, buddy, you're coming out of that wild dream. How was it in there?"
Yates tried a grin. He blinked, and rubbed his eyes. His hands were still in plastic gloves. They hadn't taken time to clean him up before they operated.
"Doc, you bitch. You didn't tell me it was going to hurt. Still hurts like a fucking volcano."