Murdock knew that his platoon had slowed. The horses were getting tired. Canzoneri was a load. Murdock had done duty three times so far and it was starting to tell. His legs felt a little rubbery, and he hadn’t felt that often in his SEAL career.
Past a thick growth of brush, Murdock found Lam leaning against a tree.
“We’ve got an outpost ahead. Sand-bagged bunker with two machine guns sticking out of it. One is a fifty, the other a thirty, I’d guess or comparable. I’ve heard at least four men in the bunker. Not sure what is behind it or how we get to it. There are firing lanes cut into the brush back fifty yards. That’s fifty yards we need to cross to get to the bunker. Let me borrow your NVGs.”
Lam took the night vision goggles and vanished for a pair of minutes. When he came back he nodded. “Oh, damn, they have NVGs too. One of them lifted up to check something in the goggles, and I nailed him, spotted him. Which means it will take me a few minutes longer. I’m going to circle around and come up behind them. I’m counting on their not having any mine fields in this area. If so, I’m so much canned mush. If I can get around them and come up and talk to them, I’ll keep my lip mike open, and tell you when to come across.”
“Any other way?” Murdock asked.
“Not unless you want to blast them out of there with the twenties, or knock them out with the EAR. Don’t think they would appreciate either one.”
“You’re sure these are Indians and not Chicoms?”
“Dead sure, Cap. I heard one of them chattering away in English. It’s the second language in India.”
“Go.”
“Get all of our people down in good cover positions in case I mess up and that fifty starts whacking away. Make damn sure everyone is protected. Those fifties would cut right through here even out of the firing lanes.”
“Roger that, now move.”
It took Murdock five minutes to get everyone down and behind a tree or log or rock for good protection. Then they waited to hear from Lam.
Lam worked into the brush at a right angle turn away from the bunker. He moved without a sound, without breaking a stick. When he was fifty yards away from the valley, he did a due west turn and moved a hundred yards through the thinning brush and a few trees. Then did another right angle turn toward the valley. This should put him a hundred yards behind the bunker. He could watch for backup and any camped out troops in support. Twenty feet from the edge of the woods, he found a rough road that ran toward the bunker. He kept near it yet still in the brush.
Just behind the bunker were six small two-man tents laid out in a neat company row. Yes. Good. He moved closer and now could hear the men in the bunker talking. Some spoke what he figured was Hindi. Others spoke English. Definitely Indian and not Chinese. He moved closer, watched a shift change. He was six feet from the back entrance to the bunker when an officer came out. He said something to the men inside in English then turned to head for the small tents.
When he turned, Lam stood directly in front of him with both hands up, his weapon slung around his neck.
“I’m a friend, an American, we need your help. We intend you no harm. Hey, we’re on your side.”
The man’s face went taut, his eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open. Then he gave a yell.
“Americans? You’re the U.S. Navy SEALs we’ve been told to watch for. It’s been all over the military radio on this end of India for the past two days.”
“We’re SEALs. Lost our transport inside China and have been looking for you. Can our people come on in? They’re out in front of your firing lanes about fifty yards.”
“Yes, yes. You have a radio. Just a minute.” The officer went into the bunker. “Hold your fire. Friendlies coming in. Hold your fire.”
He came out. “Tell your people to come in. How many?”
“Fourteen of us and one is wounded. Do you have any medical people here?”
“Just an outpost. You must have seen the fighting. We have a field hospital up there five miles. I’ll get a jeep down here to take your man to the medics. We have two choppers that can transport you. Take you down to Purnia, then on to Calcutta. Let me phone my Commander. He’ll be overjoyed to know you’re safe.”
Less than twenty-four hours later, the SEALs landed in Calcutta. Medics at the field hospital had treated Canzoneri’s leg. It had become infected, and they did what they could and sent him along with the rest of the SEALs.
In Calcutta he went to the best civilian hospital in town under Don Stroh’s direction and the SEALs settled down in their semipermanent quarters on the military airfield nearby. Franklin’s arm was cleaned out, stitched up and bandaged and he was returned to duty.
Murdock tried to find the chopper pilot of the 46 who had chickened out on them in China. Don Stroh lent his efforts and at last they tracked him down and got his name, rank, and serial number. Murdock wrote a scathing after-action report especially for the air operations officer who had the pilot under his command.
Murdock asked that the man be court-martialed for cowardice under fire and desertion of troops in a combat situation. He gave a second by second account of the incident and the resulting abandonment of fourteen U.S. Navy SEALs in the wilds of hostile China. When he was through he had two pages of single-spaced accusations. He made six copies and sent one to the pilot’s commanding officer, one to the CNO, one to the temporary field where the choppers flew from in northern India. He gave the rest to Don Stroh to see what good he could do with them. Then he took a long, hot shower and hit his rack for fourteen hours. He couldn’t remember being so tired or worn out in his life.
The next morning, Ed DeWitt woke him up.
“Hey, fourteen hours in the sack should be enough. Stroh said not to bother you, but I figured you’d want to know. We have twenty-four hours to get out of here. I mean get out of the Far East or wherever the hell this is. Hey, Murdock, do you understand? We’re done here. We’re used up. Don Stroh said to pull us out now. We’re going home on commercial air, first class. We’re getting class A uniforms and traveling cash. We should be home in two days.”
Murdock had come out of his long sleep slowly, but the news about going home did the trick. “Home, yes. Good. What about Canzoneri?”
“He’s on the manifest. He’s fit to travel. We’re all getting out of here and Stroh is going along to smooth out any problems.”
“Stroh as our traveling companion. Now that will be a treat. What about the big war?”
“Simmering down. Now there is only sporadic fighting in Pakistan. The Chicoms bit off a bigger mouthful than they could chew. Looks like during this whole mess China was after the huge oil reserve that Pakistan has. That was their purpose all along. Now it looks like China will pull out of Pakistan and they will get the contract to build a huge pipeline from Pakistan into China to a refinery complex. So looks like China got what it wanted after all.”
“Yeah, but they’ll have to pay for the oil. The other way they could simply steal it. Good old Chicoms are at it again.” Murdock rubbed his face trying to get fully awake. “Was it a bad dream or do I remember you saying something about Don Stroh is flying home with us?”
“That’s the word.”
“Wow, wow, wow. Isn’t that going to be a bucket of fun.”
28
Lieutenant Commander Blake Murdock eased into the chair at his small office in Third Platoon headquarters and relaxed. Good to be home again. It had been a start-and-stop trip via commercial air from Calcutta, India, and he was glad it was over. They arrived at Lindbergh Field in San Diego late last night. They found their luggage in the form of cardboard boxes containing their weapons without ammo and combat vests and personal gear. After they checked in at the equipment room there on the base, Murdock had given everyone a five-day liberty.