He would have loved to consult with Razor Roselli just then, but he had to assume that the Syrian electronic warfare units had also come out to the field that Saturday. With modern equipment, even a short transmission from an MX-300 was way too easy to get a fix on.
The essence of war was the right place and the right time, and Murdock intended to choose well. He estimated that the Syrian sweep line would reach the patrol base in an hour and a half, two hours at the outside.
“As nice as it is up here,” he said to Jaybird, “I think we’d better get back to the platoon.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hey, Jaybird?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Stop calling me sir, will you? After all this time it just makes me think you’re fucking with me.”
Jaybird’s grin was enormous. “Yes, sir.”
Murdock sighed.
They eased their way down the hill and back to the patrol base. And after an exchange of birdcalls, the backup signal to a radio message, they got into the patrol base without being shot by their fellow SEALS. It had happened.
“I love it how the breaks just keep getting better and better,” said Razor Roselli after Murdock gave him the news.
All the SEALs were in a tight circle. Shoulder-to-shoulder, face-to-face. “Comments?” Murdock requested.
“Make some hides, let them walk right past us?” Higgins suggested.
“We don’t have time to dig good ones,” said Doc. “These woods are so open, if a Syrian took a wrong step and fell into just one hide, we’d all be screwed.”
“What the Syrians are counting on,” Magic Brown weighed in, “is that we’ve got the wide-open valley and fields to our east, and another thousand feet of mountains that are just bare rocks to our west. These woods aren’t more than three miles across at the widest point. Look how long we had to patrol to find enough cover to cross the damn roads. We’re going to have a hell of a time maneuvering around to find a gap in their lines.”
“I was watching how they’re doing the sweep,” said Jaybird. “Every time they came to a road everyone would automatically stop. That way whoever fell behind got a chance to catch up. Then, when they were all on the road, all covered and aligned, they’d start up again. It worked pretty good, ‘cause there’s dirt roads cutting across these woods every couple of miles. So if we’re going to make a move, it has to be just before they reach a road and get themselves unfucked. That’s when they’re the most disorganized and vulnerable.” He looked around the circle to see what everyone was thinking.
“Keep going,” Murdock urged. “You’re on a roll.”
“Okay,” Jaybird said, feeding off the enthusiasm. “What we’ve got to do is think a couple of moves ahead of them, like Magic does in chess.”
Imagining he was hearing his game slandered, Razor’s eyes narrowed. “Now,” said Jaybird, “What I was thinking is this.
Listening, Murdock felt once again that any officer who thought he had all the answers was an asshole.
When Jaybird finished, Razor Roselli was the first to speak. “You know something, Turdbird? I think you’re starting to work your way off my shit list.”
29
The SEALs were spread out among the trees, and not coincidentally had located themselves on the far western portion of the woods. Except for the quarter-mile-long portion they were in, a ridgeline stretched across that entire length of woods and continued down into the valley.
Out ahead of them they could hear the shouting of frustrated Syrian sergeants and platoon commanders trying to keep their troops together. Murdock took some comfort from the fact that the Syrians were having a long day too, and had probably reached the point where their heads were concentrated on maintaining the formation, not preparing to engage the enemy. And the SEALs were all dressed in Syrian uniforms, which was about the only bit of gratitude he could work up for the CIA just then.
But the sounds kept coming on, and Murdock began to get worried. Something should have happened by now.
A few minutes passed and Murdock could now hear the Syrians crashing through the brush. If they got any closer he was going to have to make a tough call. If he pulled back, Jaybird’s plan was blown. But if he stayed there and nothing happened they were committed to a firefight.
Like one of those “find all the animals in the barnyard” puzzles, Murdock could make out the green camouflaged faces of his SEALs among the trees. They were all looking over to him for a signal. He could have all the discussions he wanted, but in the end he would always be the one in charge. And the SEALs would do exactly what he decided, whether it got them killed or not. In training that ultimate responsibility was a lot of fun. Now it felt like being slowly crushed by a large rock.
He decided to throw the dice and stay put. But when he was able to pick out the uniforms of the Syrian troops moving toward him through the trees, he knew he’d chosen wrong, and his stomach flipped over. Then he heard the explosions in the distance, and was reprieved.
A mile to the east of the SEALS, the line of Syrian commandos looked up at the ridge they would soon have to climb and shook their heads. Although called commandos, these were not special forces like the SEALs or Green Berets. In the October 1973 War with Israel, the performance of Syria’s conscript infantry had been disappointing. So the Syrian Army decided to form independent commando battalions to which they assigned their best and most reliable soldiers. The commando name was for morale and esprit; the units performed conventional infantry missions. The decision paid off. In the 1982 War in Lebanon, the Syrian commandos performed extremely well. Although present on the battlefield only in small numbers, they fought effective delaying actions, retreating only when ordered — a minor miracle for Arab armies up until that time. The commandos also sprang effective ambushes on the Israeli armor as it tried to negotiate the narrow Lebanese roads and rocky hills. Now their sergeant shouted at them, and the commandos started up the ridge. They didn’t notice the monofilament fishing line snaking across their path. One of the Syrians snagged the line and tripped two hand grenades rigged with instantaneous fuses — the sort of toys SEALs carried in their pockets. The grenades blew and threw up a cloud of black smoke. Three commandos went down screaming.
Almost instantaneously, right in front of them there was a series of fast popping explosions, like the concentrated fire of a number of automatic weapons.
The Syrian soldiers hit the dirt and opened fire on the ridge. Nearby units, thinking that the enemy had been found atop the ridge, opened up also. Whenever a Syrian stopped to change magazines he still heard firing going on, so he continued shooting. It was a very common phenomenon and linked to the necessity of gaining fire superiority. No one wanted to slacken their fire and let the enemy gain an advantage. It happened more often than not in the confusion of battle. In the past even SEALs hadn’t been immune to it.
What the Syrians had actually heard after the initial grenade explosions were 7.62mm M43 Kalashnikov bullets looped around a long piece of explosive detonating cord that had been taped to the grenades.
Certain that they had finally discovered the enemy, all the Syrian units along the line followed their orders. They began to maneuver to surround the enemy force and pin it down. It was the first step toward its destruction. Two more grenade booby traps were hit, convincing the Syrians that they were on the right track.