“Murdock, Marine Sergeant Nelson. There’s a jeep coming hell-bent for leather through the west side. I’ve got two Marines here and M-16’s. We can’t stop him. Tried tires and windshield. He’s into the clearing heading for the first VTOL bird.”
“I see him,” Tracy Donegan, signalman second class, shouted into his shoulder mike. “He’s too close to the bird for me to use the twenty. Shit, he’s going to crash into the nose of the plane.” They heard the explosion. The large Osprey erupted in flames; some small-arms ammunition still inside began cooking off and firing in every direction. Moments later the fuel tanks went up in a gigantic, roaring fireball.
“Suicide mission,” Donegan said. “Damn, I couldn’t stop him.”
“Lieutenant, how close to unloading are you?” Murdock asked on the mike. The Navy officer had been given a Motorola.
“Almost done. We’re taking off the second two birds now. Marines and SEALs grab the next bird you can. Make your man count. We lost the pilot and copilot and two crewmen in that fire. They were about ready to leave. Let’s move it. Two and three, get out of here.”
“Head for the birds, Marines and SEALs,” Murdock bellowed. His mike caught it, and so did half a dozen Marines who had been firing into the target with their M-16’s.
“Ed, take one bird and count,” Murdock said.
He sprinted to the closest VTOL bird and found a SEAL and two Marines inside. Two minutes later he had five SEALs and eight Marines. He reported his numbers to Ed and Sergeant Nelson.
“We’ve got all the Marines, Murdock,” Ed said. “We have thirteen SEALs in this one.”
“We’re short two SEALs,” Murdock said.
The crew chief of the bird ran in and closed one door. Murdock moved to the other one. “Get out of here. No telling what else the rebels have out there. I’ll see you when I see you.” Murdock jumped down from the Osprey and ran for the fringe of brush as the engines wound up and kicked up dirt and dust while the VTOL slowly lifted off straight into the air. Two rifles picked up Murdock on his run, but missed hitting him. He crashed into the growth a dozen feet, then bellied down in the brush and touched his shoulder mike.
“SEALs, time to come home. Where the hell are you two?”
“Hiding,” the whisper said in Murdock’s earpiece.
“Yeah, I hear you, take it easy. Lots of rebels around you? Click once for yes.” One click came. Murdock waited. He had no idea which direction to go. Then the earpiece spoke to him.
“Van Dyke. Bastards all around me. Most of them from that company you shot to hell. They’re mad. Cheered like wild when the bird blew up.”
“They pulled back a little?”
“Yeah, some.”
“You seen Lam?”
“He was nearby. I think he got hit. We come off the line to backside these fuckers. Should have told you.”
“Can you find Lam?”
“Yeah. I think so. I got a scratch, but it’s nothing. The bad guys have pulled back to reorganize. I figure they knew the shit was coming in here tonight. Heard one truck back there somewhere.”
“Could be the government trucks. I see two coming in now. They have some troops with them. We’ll try to hook up with them and get out of here.”
“Birds all left?”
“Right, too dangerous to stay any longer. RPGs would kill them from this woods-to-plane range. Look for Lam.”
Murdock watched the two trucks move up to the stack of boxes of rifles, machine guns, and ammo at the site near the first VTOL, which was still burning. They pulled the ammo out first so it wouldn’t explode. He wanted to run that way and bring back some help, but he didn’t know the language. Strike that. English was the official language here in Sierra Leone. But he knew they would shoot first and talk later.
“Got him,” Van Dyke said.
“How bad?”
“Not good. Looks like one in the arm and another one in his leg, up high. He’s almost out of it.”
“Where are you from the burning chopper?”
“Yeah, see it. To the east, maybe twenty yards in the brush. About opposite that second stack of ammo on this side.”
“I’m moving up that direction. Don’t the fuck shoot me.”
Murdock moved slowly and silently. He had this routine down to an exact science. Never put your foot down until you were sure it wouldn’t break something and make noise. He found the two SEALs about five minutes later.
Van Dyke had bandaged Lam’s upper right arm and his lower leg. The in-and-out on his leg was no problem.
“I can walk, I can walk,” Lam kept saying.
“The shoulder isn’t so good,” Van Dyke said. “I think it’s a ricochet and it’s still in there.”
“So what?” Lam asked. “Let’s move. The last chopper ready?”
Murdock checked the two bandages. They would stop the bleeding even when Lam walked.
“We move quietly around to the side where the trucks are coming in. I’ll try to talk to one of the Sierra Leone soldiers without getting my head blown off.”
“Where are the choppers, that new funny VTOL one?” Lam asked.
“They had to leave, too much danger,” Murdock said. “We’re on our own for a while.”
“My fucking fault,” Lam said. “I got hit and couldn’t move there for a time. Why didn’t you use the radio?”
Murdock stopped and looked closely at Lam. His earpiece hung down his back on the thin wire. Murdock pushed it back in place, and they glided slowly through the thick growth toward the road where the trucks were coming in. So far Murdock had seen three come, load up, and leave. The workers who unloaded the planes were gone. He saw no one. Each truck must bring its own work force. He stopped opposite the fourth stack of ammo and weapons. The truck would come to them.
They sat down to wait in the fringe of woods. Murdock looked at Van Dyke. “You said you picked up a scratch?”
“Oh, nothing to worry about. Place on my arm. I think it was some shrapnel from one of our own twenties. So no Purple Heart.”
Murdock pushed back Van Dyke’s jungle-camouflaged shirtsleeve and checked it. A jagged line two inches long oozed with a line of blood that ran down his arm and dripped off his fingers. Murdock used his first-aid kit and put some ointment on the gash, then wrapped it tightly to stop the bleeding.
“Some damn scratch,” he said. Van Dyke grinned.
A truck came five minutes later, ground to a halt, and left its lights on aimed at the stack of weapons and ammo. Four men got out of the truck and began taking the goods to the truck. Murdock watched the loading. He could come up on this side of the rig without being seen.
“Stay,” he said, and brought his Bull Pup to port arms and slid across the twenty yards to the side of the old van-type truck without a sound. He paused at the near side, then crept around the front until he could see the men working. One soldier stood to the side evidently directing things. English, they spoke English.
He tried the direct approach without showing himself.
“Lieutenant, I need to talk to you,” Murdock said loud enough so the man could hear him, but not the workers. The soldier turned sharply, a submachine gun coming up.
“What the hell. Who is there?”
“A friend. I just helped bring in this stack of guns and ammo. I’m a United States Navy SEAL and I need your help.”
“You could be a rebel.”
“If I were, you’d be dead by now, right?”
The man twisted his face into a frown, then nodded. “Yeah, guess so. I saw the strange planes leave. How do they do that?”
“Vertical takeoffs and landings. After takeoff, the whole engine turns until it’s level with the wing and the plane flies forward like any plane.”
“Yeah. Okay, come out, but keep your hands up.”