Ten minutes later the platoon was convinced.
“We got a fucking war on out there,” Jaybird said.
“Could be the Chicoms and the Indians going at it on a border clash,” DeWitt said. “They have been having trouble along half their frontier for the past twenty years.”
“Great, so we pick the one spot where it’s flared up on the night we want to cross,” Murdock said. “We keep moving straight ahead until we see how broad the front is. Then we go around the closest end in a student body left.”
“A sweep,” Anderson said. “Yeah we used to use that one when I played some college football.”
“Cost us some time but what else can we do?” DeWitt asked.
“We’re going to have to slow down again,” Mahanani said. “Canzoneri is down. He can’t walk on that leg anymore. We’re going to have to carry him from here to the border.”
27
They kept moving straight ahead as Murdock had ordered. Each man who weighed as much or more than Canzoneri’s 190 pounds was detailed to carrying him. The man packing Canzoneri farmed out his webbing and vest and weapon to others. The assignment was for a quarter of a mile. Then the next man took over.
It worked remarkably well. There were six men in the platoon who outweighed the injured man. Murdock took the first carry and kept his position as second in the line of march with Lam out in front and the rest stretched out behind at five-yard intervals.
They went down the next ridge and across another valley.
“Why can’t we follow more of these snarks downstream a ways?” Ching asked.
He knew the answer before he finished the frustrated question. Obviously, the downstream direction was not the one they wanted to take.
Murdock turned the carrying job over to Howie Anderson after almost a half mile. He was winded but not done in. After that he would make sure they stuck to the quarter-mile distance.
They moved a little slower. The up and down ridge lines slowed them more and Lam estimated they were doing well to get three miles an hour.
Slightly after 2000, Lam called a halt. “Better take a look up here, gents,” he said on the net. Everyone worked forward to another ridge line. This one had a scattering of taller brush than they had seen lately. Now the sound of gunfire and bursting shells could be heard plainly. In the distance almost due west they could see some flashes as the larger shells exploded.
“An artillery exchange?” Murdock suggested.
“Maybe, but what are those machine guns doing?” Ed DeWitt asked. “Artillery would be four to six miles between the shooters.”
“Supporting an infantry attack,” Lam said.
They watched the flashes. Most of them were coming from the right-hand side of the battle area.
“How far away are they?” Jaybird asked.
Lam frowned. He knew it was coming. “I’d say not over two miles for the strongest artillery hits.”
“Let’s swing on a forty-five to the left,” Murdock said. Lam headed out on that bearing and Paul Jefferson lifted Canzoneri on his back and claimed the second spot in the line of march. So far they had been through the six men and were ready to start over.
“Jeff, I’m sorry man that I fucked up and got in the way of that round.”
“Shut up, Canzoneri. Not your fault. My job to get you down the line another quarter. So let’s ride happy back there.”
They had slowed again. After another mile, Murdock called a halt. He and Lam went up a ridge that looked higher than the others hoping they could see the battle area. They could.
“Holy shit, look at that,” Lam said.
In front of them a broad valley opened that looked to be ten miles long and half that wide. In the middle of it they could see tracers and hear small arms, and machine guns firing. The big guns pounded farther back. There was a war on down there, infantrymen, and on a flat fighting surface.
“My guess the international border runs right through the middle of the valley, half in China, half in India,” Murdock said. “A damn good spot to hold a battle.”
Lam studied the area in the sometimes moonlight. A cloud scudded away from the moon and he stared through his binoculars. “If we can get down another mile, we can hit the very edge of the valley and creep along it into India. We should be two, maybe three miles from the fighting.”
“But you can bet that both sides will have patrols and lookouts in the areas,” Murdock said.
“So, we watch them. Take them out with the EAR. Is there any battery left on it?
Murdock shook his head. He’d checked.
Murdock took over the carry work as they climbed down the side of a steeper ridge and headed for the flat lands of the valley. Franklin’s arm wound broke open and they stopped to let Mahanani rebandage it. Then they moved again. DeWitt brought up the rear.
A half hour later, Lam and Murdock looked out past a pair of good-size trees at the valley. They were fifty feet off the floor itself and could see where the fighting raged. The artillery still probed. The ground fighting was about a mile across the valley from them.
“This side should be best,” Murdock said. “We work along the side, just off the valley itself. A lot more trees and brush here we can hide in if we have to. You stay out front two hundred and keep in constant contact with your Motorola. Let me know what you see, what you hear, what the brush is like, everything. Be a chatterbox.”
“You got it, Skipper.”
When the troops came up, Mahanani carried Canzoneri like he was no more than a second pack. The big Hawaiian’s 240 pounds did the job easily.
Murdock and the rest of the SEALs heard Lam.
“Working along the side of the valley,” Lam said. “Almost across from the fighting. Looks like the two sides are dug in about two hundred yards apart. Deadly no-man’s-land in the middle. Bush is thick here. Moving closer to the valley. Hold it, a patrol.”
The ear pieces went silent for thirty seconds.
“Okay, troops, that was close. Finally made out that it was a Chicom bunch, eight of them working along the edge of the valley, watching for line crossers, my guess. So keep twenty yards up in the brush and move slowly. No rush now. Maybe the next patrol I spot will be the Indians.
“Yeah, okay. The brush thins. I’m actually directly across from the fighting now. An occasional round comes this way, but not often. Fighting seems to be slacking off. No more MGs that I can hear. A little bit of rifle fire. Even the big stuff has gone silent. Now the patrols will be out in force. Wait a few, visitors.”
Again the radio speakers went silent. It was two minutes this time before Lam came back on.
“Oh, yeah. That was closer. This bunch of six Chicoms poked into the brush. I had to go flat and not move. One guy would have stepped on me, but his sergeant called him back two steps before I’d be greasepaint. They’re gone now. Watch for this bunch. I’m going to hold up and make contact with you. Have a feeling I’m too far ahead of you. Skipper?”
“Good idea, Lam. Not sure how far ahead you are. We saw the one Chinese patrol but not the second. Hold there.”
Five minutes later Murdock saw the second Chinese patrol. They had left the edge of the valley and moved out fifty yards working silently forward.
Murdock looked around a few yards later and Lam stood beside him.
“How do you do that?”
“I’m half Apache, didn’t I tell you,” Lam said grinning. “I’ll stay in better touch. I’d say another half mile and we could be in Indian territory. I don’t expect a welcome gate, but there could be a marker fence of some kind.” He vanished into the brush ahead without making a sound.