“Get out of here,” Murdock told the pilot when he saw some riflemen on the ground and figured they were about to fire. The bird pivoted to the left and dove a thousand feet, then leveled off.
“Take us back to town,” Murdock said. “Make it the safest route you know. We’ve found out what we need to know.”
Jaybird heard the shouted exchange with the pilot over the roar and clatter of the chopper.
“So, Commander, sir. Are we going to take a hike up to the rebel camp?”
“Not a hike, Jaybird. But some of us are going to pay them a visit.”
11
Don Stroh raised his hands in a futile gesture. “What’s a man to do? That’s what the big brass in D.C. tells me, so I toe the mark. I tell you and you follow suit. The word again is: The U.S. Navy SEALs are not to engage in any firefights with the group of men headed by Mojombo Washington who call themselves the Bijimi Loyalist Party. The word is that we can probe, we can recon, but in no case can we fire at or near the camp or at any group of men from the Bijimi Loyalist Party.”
Murdock slammed his hand down on the table. His open palm made a popping sound. “That puts a real crimp in our plans. I was figuring that maybe after we move up on the camp, we give them a show of massive firepower into the trees and brush overhead, and then use a bullhorn and tell them we’re coming in to get the Vice President and any fire from their side would result in massive casualties.”
“Good idea, but now it won’t work,” Stroh said. Murdock and his planning group sat around the table with Stroh working on coffee and soft drinks.
“So what the hell can we do?” Gardner asked.
“Quite a bit is left,” Murdock said. “We know for sure where they are. We know they are lightly armed, mostly with the weapons they stole from the Army and police. We can still probe and recon. Jaybird, get Luke Howard in here. We’re going to do another recon, one on the ground. We’ll try to make contact with the Vice President. There is a horse-and-cart trail up the river. My guess is it goes all the way to the rebel camp. If it’s wide enough for a horse, a dirt bike will roll over it like a superhighway.”
Howard came in with Jaybird. “Howard, I want you and the senior chief to go out and get us a pair of motorcycle dirt bikes. Get the most cc’s you can find. Rent them, buy them, or steal them. With first light Howard and I will be straddling those bikes and moving up the trail. We’ll take our regular weapons, and food and water. I figure about thirty-five miles by land. We should be able to make thirty miles an hour if the trail is used much. We get as close to the camp as we can without attracting any attention. Then we try to move in on foot and make contact.”
“What if the Vice President doesn’t want to come out?” Gardner asked. “He sounded pretty convinced this Mojombo is the Second Coming.”
“We fight that one if and when we get to it. The Vice President outranks us all to hell, but we can say we are operating under orders of the President, who outranks Adams. The President says for the Vice President to come out, so we pick him up and pack him out of there.”
“That could turn out to be a nasty assignment,” Stroh said.
Sadler agreed. “One hell of a mess if we had to do that. We’d have to reason with the man.”
“Are you still here, Senior Chief?”
“Yes, sir. We need some cash, some dagnars, the old spondolics. Will Mr. Stroh provide the loot or will the ambassador?”
“Let’s go talk to the ambassador,” Stroh said, and the three left by the closest door.
“How far you think you’ll get?” Jaybird asked. “I mean, they are bound to have some outposts along the river, and the cycles ain’t gonna be easy to keep quiet out there in the jungle. Hear you coming for two miles.”
“Yes, there could be some outposts,” Murdock said, “but we’ll have to figure out what to do when we get there. Did I see a report that the rebels stole a whole box full of personal radios on one of their raids? If so, they could have good communications between their outposts and the main camp.”
“What are the rest of us lost souls going to do?” Jaybird asked.
Murdock grinned. “Jaybird, you and the JG and the rest of the men are going to do a fifteen-mile conditioning hike tomorrow with full gear. Get you acclimated a little bit better. I noticed you sweating like a pig yesterday.”
“Thanks, Jaybird,” Lam said. “We could have stayed here in the great air-conditioning….”
“Not a chance,” JG Gardner said. “We’ve had some training on the docket all along. In fact, the rest of the day is going to be devoted to an hour of PT and then a road run. Let’s get everyone out of here and form up outside.”
Murdock went with them and participated in the workout. It was one of the mandates of the SEALs. All officers went through the same bash-and-smash six-month BUD/S training that the enlisted men did. They had no special privileges. The only difference was all officers had to score ten percent higher than the EMs. Officers in the platoons also took all the conditioning runs, workouts, and swims the men did. It was a true togetherness operation and it worked. In the field there was no rank, only two squad leaders.
In the afternoon, Sadler and Howard rolled up to the embassy on a pair of motorcycles. One was an older Kawasaki. The second one was a Suzuki. Both were 500 cc’s and had knobby, cross-country tires and shocks. Murdock grinned. He hadn’t been on a bike for more than a year. He used to own three. He slid onto the Kawasaki that Sadler had ridden up, and led out with Howard right beside him. They did a cheap tour of the city, not riding fast, just getting the feel of the bikes and what they could do. When they came back nearly an hour later, both nodded.
“Should work,” Howard said. “Mine is a little short on pickup, but we’re not going to be in any races.”
“Make sure the tanks are full of gas and park them in a protected place inside the garage,” said Murdock. “We want to take off from here a half hour before light in the morning.”
“The bikes will be ready” Howard said. “We take our MP5s on our backs and no combat vests?”
“Sounds good. And plenty of water and some chow. We’ll have the kitchen fix us something to travel.”
“What’s for tonight?” Howard asked.
“The ambassador has planned a special dinner. He wants all of us to attend. We won’t be at the far end of the cafeteria this time. We put on clean cammies, our best manners, and we get a shot at the dining room.”
“I understand there are several women here,” Howard said. “We don’t see much of them.”
“For good reason,” Murdock said. “Everyone will be on his best behavior tonight or there will be five hundred push-ups in the morning.”
Howard chuckled. “I’ll pass the word.”
At six-thirty that night, the SEALs marched into the dining room in squad order. Mrs. Oberholtzer, the ambassador’s wife and a matron of about forty with a generous waistline, immediately took charge.
“Young men, I don’t want you to sit beside each other. Space out around the table. We have more than enough people here to separate you.” She looked at some of the staff and five teenage girls, who stood at one side. “I want to remind you young ladies that you will show proper decorum and manners at all times. So, everyone please be seated.”
Murdock sat beside the hostess, and soon they were into a discussion about Southern California. She had grown up in Escondido and then gone to college in Washington, D.C., where she’d met her husband.
“Are the avocado orchards still there?” she asked. “They were such a wonder and the fruit was so delicious. It’s impossible down here to get any avocados. I would give twenty dollars a cup for a good supply of guacamole.”