Keith Douglass
Firestorm
Dedication
With great respect and appreciation this book is dedicated to Jake Elwell, who made the whole project possible and who stem-wound the operation. Also to Cyndy Mobley, who made the connection and offered a writer's aid and comfort during the creative process.
SEAL TEAM SEVEN THIRD PLATOON
Lieutenant Blake Murdock. WEAPON HK MP-5SD sub-machine gun.
David "Jaybird" Stirling. Machinists Mate Second Class. Platoon Chief. WEAPON HK MP-5SD sub-machine gun.
Ron Holt. Radioman First Class. Platoon radio operator. WEAPON HK MP-5SD sub-machine gun.
Marvin "Magic" Brown. Quartermaster's Mate First Class. Squad sniper. WEAPON Mcmillan M-89 7.62 NATO sniper rifle/Mcmillan M-88.50-caliber sniper rifle.
Eric "Red" Nicholson. Torpedoman's Mate Second Class. Scout for the platoon. Weapon Colt M-4A1 with grenade launcher.
Kenneth Ching. Quartermaster's Mate First Class. Platoon translator/Chinese, Japanese, Russian, Spanish. Weapon Colt M-4A1 with grenade launcher.
Harry "Horse" Ronson. Electrician's Mate Second Class. WEAPON HK M-21A1 7.62 NATO round machine gun.
James "Doc" Ellsworth. Hospital Corpsman Second Class. Platoon Corpsman. WEAPON HK MP-5SD/Mossburg no stock 5-round pump shotgun.
Lieutenant (j.g.) Ed Dewitt. Leader Second Squad. Second in Command of the platoon. WEAPON HK MP-5SD sub-machine gun.
Al Adams. Gunner's Mate Third Class. WEAPON Colt M-4A1 with rocket launcher.
Miguel Fernandez. Gunner's Mate First Class. Speaks Spanish, Portuguese, Squad Sniper. WEAPON Mcmillan M-89 7.62 NATO round sniper rifle.
Scotty Frazier. Gunner's Mate Second Class. WEAPON Colt M-4A1 with grenade launcher.
Greg Johnson. Gunner's Mate Second Class. WEAPON Colt M-4A1 with grenade launcher.
Willy Bishop. Electrician's Mate Second Class. Explosives expert. WEAPON Colt M-4A1 with grenade launcher, Mossburg no stock 5-round pump shotgun.
Ross Lincoln. Aviation Technician Second Class. WEAPON HK MP-5SD sub-machine gun.
Joe "Ricochet" Lampedusa. Operations Specialist Third Class. WEAPON HK M-21A1 7.62 NATO round machine gun.
Third Platoon assigned exclusively to the Central Intelligence Agency to perform any needed tasks on a covert basis anywhere in the world. A Top Secret classified assignment.
1
Lieutenant Blake Murdock, a ring-knocker and commander of the Third Platoon of SEAL Team Seven, stroked evenly through the chilly water of the Taiwan Strait between Mainland China and Taiwan. He and his platoon swam the chilly waters a mile off the coastal Chinese town of Fuching.
"That's Mainland China, you shit-bird," Murdock had crowed when he first looked at his orders. "Those fucking Chinese don't like anybody messing in their rice bowl over there."
Murdock was now more determined than ever to get in and out, to scoot and shoot, and not even let the Chinese Mainlanders know he and his men had been there. If he and his team could pull it off. That was the best possible scenario, but like most covert operations by the Navy SEALS, the best possible seldom happened. There were too many loopholes, too many factors that he and his men didn't control, and too many cluster-fuck problems that could leap up courtesy of Dr. Murphy and his law of potential disasters.
Murdock felt the gentle tug of the six-foot-long buddy line that connected him to his shadow, Radioman First Class Ron Holt. He handled the commo work for the platoon, and stuck next to Murdock whenever possible.
Murdock sensed that he was moving on schedule. He knew exactly how many strokes he needed to swim a hundred meters even when confronted with a two-knot current. Now and again he checked the attack board to make sure he was on the right line to the target.
They had been dropped a mile offshore by a submarine and told to be back before dawn. It wasn't healthy for a U.S. boat to be caught on the surface in daylight this close to the Chinese mainland.
The CIA had called on Third Platoon again to pull their spy stuff out of the fire. It was a simple mission to meet a half-blown CIA Chinese agent on the coast and receive some high-level military plans the agent had obtained.
There was a chance he had been fully compromised, so a SEAL platoon was assigned to go in and be ready for any type of reception. It might be a walk in the park, a picnic on the beach, or it could be slaughterhouse row with ranks of the People's Republic of China soldiers waiting for them. One way or the other.
The sixteen men of the Third Platoon of SEAL Team Seven had stepped into the sea with full attack swimming gear. They were paired into eight teams, two-man units.
There was a slight chop on the surface of the chilly Taiwan Strait, but Murdock and his men swam fifteen feet under the surface. He checked the attack board again. It was a chunk of plastic with two handgrips. In the middle was a bubble compass along with a digital depth gauge and clock. The dials were luminous, but at night the dark seas quickly blotted out their meager light.
The attack board compensated for this problem with a Cyalume chemical light stick with a knob to increase or decrease the amount of light so the operator could read the instructions fifteen feet underwater at midnight.
Murdock checked the compass and saw that he was a fraction of a degree off course. He corrected and kept kicking. They had been swimming long enough for the chill of the water to reach through their wet suits. Murdock shook his head. He'd been a lot colder than this in his mother's living room. This was nothing compared to the training all SEALS go through at the Budweiser in Coronado, California — BUD/S for short, the Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL course.
Murdock and all of his men wore the Enhanced Draeger LAR-V underwater breathing devices. They were rebreathers using pure oxygen that recycled the exhaled air so there was no telltale trail of bubbles for an enemy to spot and follow directly to the swimmer.
The new models were worn in front and had 30 larger oxygen bottles for longer underwater swims. The weapons usually on the SEAL swimmers' chest were now tied down on their backs.
Murdock looked around, but couldn't see any of the other men. They were there, moving toward the target. Even with a good moon out, he could see no more than six or eight feet through the Far Eastern sea. All of his men would get to the target. He needed them there.
He settled down and kept up his rhythmic stroke through the salty sea.
Ten minutes later he felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked around at Ron Holt. The hefty young man pointed upward. Against the soft moonlight bathing the water above, Murdock saw two shadows. They were not seals or sharks — he could tell by the shape. Then he saw the shadows kicking, and he swore he could see swim fins.
What the hell? Swimmers out here? A human frogman defense line?
China had enough bodies. A damn complication. None of his men would be that close to the surface. Murdock let the attack board drop on its short cord tied to his vest, and reached for his K-Bar in its sheath on his leg. Holt had already drawn his combat knife. Murdock gave a thumb-upward motion, and they moved slowly toward the shadows above them. Murdock cut the buddy line to give them maneuvering room.
The forms above stopped, and Murdock saw wet-suited legs drop downward. The swimmers were on the surface. They weren't SEALS. The two men had been swimming parallel to the shoreline. Murdock and his men were moving directly toward the beach.