Jaybird grinned. “Oh, yeah, Commander. Red flares.”
“So, Lead Petty Officer, drop three red flares on those advancing troops out there damn quick.”
The words went over the net, and the whole team knew the plan.
“I got one,” Jaybird said. “Sound off as you load. Who else?”
“Yeah, one in the hole,” Mahanani said.
Jaybird fired. A moment later, Murdock heard another flare launched and then a third. Two flares hit just in front of the advancing troops. The third one was right beside the personnel carrier, and glowed in the darkness.
Then the jets came storming in. Murdock wondered at the surprise of the pilots at the target designation. They’d make split microsecond decisions and follow their training.
Before Murdock turned to watch for the jets, they thundered overhead, having launched their payload seconds earlier. Three air-to-ground missiles jolted into the Iranian soil and exploded with a deadly rain of shrapnel. One took out two squads of the infantry. The second one blasted the armored personnel carrier into a flaming mass of twisted metal. The third round hit behind the advancing troops.
The entire line of Iranian soldiers hesitated.
“Let’s get them,” Murdock said and slammed off three rounds from his H&K MP-5 submachine gun. The high-speed 9mm and .223 zingers pounded the Iranians from all guns. They were joined by the machine guns and the H&K G-11 caseless rounds.
Ten seconds into the firing, Murdock called on the net.
“Bravo Squad men, put forty-mikes out there.” The men in Bravo Squad with the 40mm grenade launchers switched to the small bombs and scattered them along the line of march by the Iranians.
Half of the force fell and didn’t get up. In places, a squad of seven moved unhurt through the storm of lead. Another twenty seconds into the fight, and the Iranians began to waver, then one squad turned and ran to the rear. Two men from another squad tried to run back, but Horse Ronson picked them off with his NATO round machine gun.
Ten seconds later it was all over. Forty of the 140 who began the fight ran flat out to the rear. Only a few of those still had weapons.
“Cease fire,” Murdock said, and the SEALs’ weapons silenced.
“Lets go get wet,” Murdock said. He heard some cheers over the radio net, then the SEALs pushed down the reverse slope so they could stand without being seen and jogged toward the surf some 500 yards away.
“Lam and I will pull rear guard. Dobler, get the men into the water with rebreathers and head ninety degrees away from the shoreline, due south. Go, go, go.”
Lam and Murdock lay in the sand, their camouflaged floppy hats barely showing over the top of the dune. A few more stragglers hurried to the safety of the burned-out display. Murdock saw half a dozen wounded struggling to get to the rear as well.
“The jets didn’t come back for a second shot,” Lam said.
“Maybe they figured they had finished their job,” Murdock said. “Or maybe somebody used a radio and told them to get lost.” They watched for five minutes, and nobody moved toward the dunes. Murdock slid backward and motioned to Lam. They went downslope far enough to stand up without being seen and then jogged toward the beach.
Ahead, Murdock saw his men taking off their radios and putting them in the waterproof pouches; then they slung their weapons across their backs. Dobler checked each man, then slapped him on the back, and the SEAL went into the water. Dobler waited on the beach for Murdock and Lam.
When they ran up, Dobler waved. “Told the others to swim out for fifteen minutes, then surface and we get together.”
Murdock nodded.
Murdock and Lam were ready. The three ran into the surf just as they heard shots fired behind them. The shooters were out of range. The SEALs dove under the first wave and let the rebreathers work their magic. They left no telltale trail of bubbles for an enemy to follow. The SEALs didn’t take time to tie their buddy cords but stayed together as they stroked outward from the land.
When they could, they went down to fifteen feet and kept on their compass course.
Later, Lam touched Murdock’s shoulder and pointed to his watch. Murdock looked upward, and he and Lam surfaced. Dobler was just ahead of them. They checked around the choppy blue waves. Murdock whistled sharply between his teeth and waited.
He grinned when they heard another whistle to the left. They swam that way and found the twelve SEALs floating, talking, and treading water.
“Is that sonar beacon out?” Murdock asked.
“Yeah, Cap,” Jaybird said. “Fact is, I’ve got two of them trailing from my vest.”
Murdock looked back at the breaking waves.
“Less than a quarter of a mile off the beach. We better do another half mile, then come up for a peek. Buddy cords this time. Anybody get hit back there?”
Nobody reacted.
“Hell, Cap’n, don’t think we took a single round of incoming,” Yeoman Second Class “Guns” Franklin said. “Us and their own fly boys kicked shit out of them Iranians.”
“That we did. Now, let’s get some distance from the Islam republic back there.”
They swam.
They checked at half a mile, then swam again for half an hour and came up at what Murdock figured was about three miles offshore. They had seen no patrol boats searching for them. Murdock knew that Iran had some patrol boats. He’d seen some of the ten Kamin class boats, 150 feet long with harpoon missiles and a three-inch gun. He didn’t want to see one now.
They kept on the surface, and Jaybird made sure that the sonar tracking balls were out and functioning. They waited.
“No sense to go any farther offshore,” Murdock said. “Iran doesn’t seem to want to come look for us. Figures. The sale wasn’t their show, they just rented the lot to old Osama bin Laden. They knew he could afford to take the loss. He dumps millions into terrorist groups every year.
Lam heard it first. He usually did.
“Chopper from the south. Must be one of ours.”
“How can a chopper find us?” Gunner’s Mate First Class Miguel Fernandez asked.
“Easy,” Ken Ching said. “Two of our submarines take a bearing on our sonar, get a cross-check fix on us, and radio the bird. Same way they hunt down enemy subs.”
They all watched the bird come toward them. Murdock fired off a green flare.
“It’s a Chinook,” Bradford said.
“No way. It’s a Sea Knight, a CH-46E,” Quinley yelped.
It came straight for them, slowed, and stopped a hundred feet away. It was a Sea Knight.
“SEALs, welcome back. Do you have any wounded?” It was a bullhorn from the chopper.
The men shook their heads.
“Very well. We’ll do a rope ladder pickup. By the book. We’ll come around into the wind for a hover.”
“You know the drill,” Murdock shouted. “Flippers around your necks. Line up. Bravo Squad first. Dobler, get them moving.”
By that time, the chopper came in and hovered. The rope ladder just touched the water’s surface. Franklin went up first. When he was on the third of the six rungs, Quinley grabbed the bottom rung.
It went like a training drill. Nobody slowed or stopped or fell off. It took just over four minutes for the fifteen SEALs to go up the ladder and inside the rear hatch of the Sea Knight.
Murdock shook hands with the crew chief, who closed the hatch.
“How far from the carrier?” Murdock asked.
“The lieutenant said it was about twenty minutes out here. Should be about the same back. Your men need anything?”
“Hot coffee and hot showers would be nice,” Murdock said, and they both chuckled.
Thirty minutes later, the chopper set down on the carrier deck, and the SEALs dismounted. They took all their gear and hurried to their quarters for coffee, hot showers, and clean cammies before the debriefing began.