“Thank him for the men. We’ll report in when the mission is over no matter what time it is. Are we five hours ahead of you?”
“I think that’s it, Commander. Signing off.”
Murdock put down the handset and stared at Mojombo. “You heard the orders. They are binding on you too, since we’re both looking for the same prize.”
“I understand, Commander. If we draw the prize, we will make every effort to bring out both men. If it is impossible to rescue them and we have the ability, Mr. Stroh will be terminated, but not the Vice President. Right?”
“Correct. It won’t come to that. I have a good feeling about this raid. We’re going to bring them back. One of us. Right now I couldn’t guess which one of us it will be.”
Murdock called Gardner into their tent and dropped the flap. “Let’s have a little critique of the mission last night,” Murdock said. “First, your evaluation.”
“Yes, sir. First I appreciate the chance to run the operation. On top, we accomplished our purpose. The police station was burned out and they lost at least a dozen men, maybe more. We had only one casualty, and that’s not life-threatening. Our movement to the objective went well. Our guide did his job. Lam was as efficient as ever and brought us to the right spot. The actual firefight could have gone better. The men coming from outside and attacking us was a surprise. I should have expected something like that. We did reduce them, and scared off the five who escaped from the car fire.
“The armored personnel carrier was another surprise. I didn’t know their Army had any such rigs, let alone the police. Frankly it stumped me. I’ve never met anything like that before.”
“That’s why Jaybird took it on,” Murdock said. “We’ve busted up a dozen or more of them. Almost always with C-4 or TNAZ in the tracks. Stops them dead. Jaybird was showing off a little. He likes to do that. I just hope one of these days it doesn’t get him or some other SEAL killed.”
“That was about it. We formed up and moved out. Mahanani took care of the wound and we hit the takeoff spot and got home.”
“Want to rate yourself from one to a hundred?”
Gardner rubbed the back of his head. “Damn, well, I guess a ninety. Five off for the squad outside the station and another five on the personnel carrier.”
Murdock watched the junior-grade lieutenant. He’d done well, and would soon have his own platoon. He was good. How had he stayed a JG so long? “I disagree with your figure. It should be a ninety-five. The squad of shooters outside didn’t surprise me. The personnel carrier did. So, Lieutenant, put a big eagle’s feather in your floppy. You did good.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that. I better get over to the ammo tent and see that our boys get their pockets filled. I have a count on twenties in my squad. We have five left per man.”
“We have four per man. No more mass firings. We’ll use them carefully unless we get some new stock from the carrier. Have you set up a sleep period?”
“Early chow at 1600, then sleep period from 1630 to 2300. We on the first chopper run or the second?”
“Let’s take the first. Tell Mojombo he has the second trip.”
“That’s a roger.”
The rest of the afternoon, Murdock sweated out the chopper. It came in just after 1700 with both SEALs and two cases of a hundred rounds of HE 20mm.
“Their ordnance man said these twenties should work in our weapons,” Mahanani said. “He told me to compare them for weight and size and extractor operation. Then if there was any question, not to use them.”
“Do it,” Murdock said. “If they check out, get some sandbags to protect yourself and place the weapon through them with the trigger behind them, and fire off one of the new rounds. My bet is that they will work fine for HE contact.”
Josie Halstrom, the chopper pilot, walked up and waited to talk to Murdock. “I’ve got a new copilot. My other one didn’t like getting shot at and developed a serious stomach problem. No guts is my guess. Anyway, we’re ready to do a double run tonight whenever you’re ready.”
“Good. First run about 0100. You better get some sack time yourself before then.”
Halstrom nodded, and headed back to his bird on the edge of the soccer field.
Mojombo called from his tent three down, and Murdock went over to the African leader.
“SATCOM and they’re asking for you. They asked me if you ever had your own set turned on.”
Murdock took the handset. “Murdock here.”
“Yes, Commander. Billings. We’ve just had a message from State. They have received a radio demand through a third country from Sierra Bijimi President Kolda. He says he has liberated our Vice President from the criminal rebel terrorists and is ready to return him to United States authorities. Kolda says his nation has suffered seriously in military action to rescue the two men, and he needs payment of three billion U.S. dollars. The money will help to cover the terrible death and destruction to his capital during the fight to rescue the Vice President and another diplomat, Don Stroh.”
“The bastard. Our orders still stand?”
“Yes.”
“We’ve planned an operation. I’m not sure that Kolda doesn’t have a SATCOM. If he does, he could be listening in. He didn’t make any threats against our men, did he?”
“No, but he did say that he expected quick cooperation by the U.S. since the Vice President is seriously ill and needs the best medical care possible. It can’t be provided for the Vice President here in Sierra Bijimi.”
“The bastard,” Murdock said. “I’ll report back to you in eighteen hours.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks, Mr. Billings. We’ll need it.”
23
Mahanani, Lam, and Howard picked a spot well away from the village to test the 20mm rounds brought back from the carrier.
“Look exactly the same,” Lam said. “The grooves, the markings, only thing different is the fuse, and we can’t even see that.”
“Weigh about the same,” Mahanani said, hefting one in each hand.
Howard laughed. “Sure, Old Weights and Measures himself here. Let’s give it a try.”
They set up the Bull Pup with a heavy wooden box filled with dirt on each side. The trigger was just behind the boxes, and the round in the chamber. If it blew inside the weapon, the boxes of dirt should take up the impact.
“Who gets to pull the trigger?” Lam asked.
“Hey, it’s Howard’s Bull Pup,” Mahanani said. “He gets the honor.”
Howard reached down, lay flat on the ground behind the weapon, and curled his finger around the trigger.
“Get back thirty yards,” he told the other two. “No sense in all of us getting killed.” They grinned and moved back.
When they were to the rear and behind tree trunks, Lam called out. “Ready on the firing line.” It was the age-old military order that all was safe to begin target practice.
Howard shut his eyes, ducked down, and pulled the trigger. They heard the familiar loud crack of the round going off. Then fifty yards downrange a huge tree took the round in the center of its trunk with a smashing explosion as the HE round detonated.
Howard sat up and smiled.
“Hey, you chickens, these rounds work fine. Pass the word.” Howard pulled back the lever and checked. A new round from the magazine had moved up into the firing chamber after the first shell casing had been ejected. Yes.
The Skyhawk with the thirteen SEALs and one Loyalist soldier had kept a minimum altitude of fifty feet over the water as it raced downstream, pulling in sharply at the five-mile dock, and found the LZ a quarter of a mile from the river beside a tributary. The small open field had been harvested. The SEALs and the Loyalist soldier, Sandari, jumped out of the helicopter and ran at once for the cover of the jungle growth. The chopper lifted off at once and powered north over the heavy greenery on its way by a new course back to Tinglat.