Just then a dozen men ran out the back of the houses heading for the river trail. Each man had at least two weapons.
“I’ll do warning shots,” DeWitt said into the Motorola. “Hold fire.” He fired three three-round bursts from his MP- 5. “Hold it right there and drop your weapons,” DeWitt bellowed.
Three of the pirates fired at the woods in front of them.
“Open season on pirates,” DeWitt said, and the SEALs opened fire with eight guns. Five of the pirates went down. Two tried to keep firing as they crawled away. Five more dropped their weapons and held their hands in the air.
DeWitt called a cease-fire and used the special radio. “Skyhook, looks like it’s time for you to come through the houses and collect the garbage. We have five pirates down and wounded, five with their hands in the air, and two trying to crawl away. Happy hunting. As soon as you collect this filth, we’re heading back to San Diego.”
2
Lieutenant Commander Blake Murdock leaned back in the chair at his small desk in the Third Platoon’s tiny office and waved at Ed DeWitt, who angled through the door.
“Well, DeWitt. I hear you had a great vacation down there in the Caribbean.”
“We kicked butt and asked for more, but they sent us home. No casualties, no wounds, all fit for duty.” He dropped into the only other chair in the office and sprawled long legs halfway across the room. “Anything cooking?”
“Not so you could notice. Your buddy and mine, Masciareli, wants us to participate in an all-Seven exercise next week.”
“All ten platoons? Why?”
“Unity, cohesiveness, and the American way. He’s still pissed you got to hit the Carib and he didn’t get to go along.”
“Maybe Don Stroh will rescue us.”
“Not a word from him or the CIA for a month now. He must be on vacation or maybe found a new girl.”
“Thought he was married.”
“He never has said one way or the other.”
“So how are the three wounded coming along?” DeWitt asked.
“You had Franklin with you. He said he was fit for duty.”
“Franklin worked as scout, did a good job. I don’t think that bullet in and out in his left thigh bothered him a bit.”
“Watch him on training for the next week. Not too sure about Bradford. He was in the hospital for a week, then out on limited duty, and so he didn’t report back here until last week. I kept him on an easy training sked. Doctors said that round missed his kidney by an inch and grazed one intestine. So when the infection is gone, he should be back in good shape. But I’m still worried about a torso wound.”
“What about Lam?”
“He’s sucking it up and gutting it out. Had a slug through his lower right leg and a ricochet on his right arm. Both healing well and he keeps up with everybody else on our training marches.”
“So, it’s training time. You have it set for next week?”
“This is Friday, Ed. Who is ready for next week? Unless you want to work Saturday instead of taking your four-day leave.”
DeWitt sighed and crossed his ankles way out on the floor. “Yeah, I’m with you. I’m taking the four days, rest up a little. All that killing pirates makes a guy tired.”
“All I need is your after-action report and you’re out of here.”
“Done in ten minutes.” He pulled out his laptop computer and began pounding away. After a few minutes he looked up. “Oh, keep tabs on Mahanani for me. He’s been acting a little weird lately. Nothing I can pin down. I asked him about it, and he said not to worry, he’d take care of any problems he had.”
“That doesn’t sound like our happy Hawaiian,” Murdock said. “I’ll watch him. Now finish that report and get out of here. Milly know you’re home yet?”
“She’s still at work.”
Meanwhile, Alpha Squad rolled into the equipment room after its ten-mile hike and found Bravo there.
“Vacation over for you guys,” Jaybird yelled. “Now you can get back to real work.”
Paul Jefferson picked up Jaybird and hung him upside down until he bellowed in fury, then tipped him over and sat him on a bench. “Never tease a man when he’s tired, little bird, otherwise you might get your feathers plucked out.”
“Easy on the merchandise, chess player. I don’t want to disappoint a certain little lady bird tonight in the nest.”
“Didn’t know we had buzzards around here,” Bradford jabbed, and Jaybird threw his sweaty T-shirt at him.
Jack Mahanani sat by himself getting dressed after his shower. Usually he was a big part of the high jinks and the drinking parties, but not today. He dressed and cast off as quickly as he could. He had on his civilian clothes when he went over the Quarter Deck, past Master Chief Petty Officer Gordon MacKenzie, and out to his car.
He drove by rote, hardly thinking where he was going. Tonight had to be better, his luck had to change. It hadn’t helped him the last time. He drove steadily for twenty minutes out U.S. Interstate 8 toward a bustling little town, went just past it to the Indian reservation and the sprawling Casa Grande Casino. Mahanani parked and walked in the front door, and at once a man went into step beside him. Mahanani knew him; he was what the casino called a “counselor.”
“Hey Jack, how’s it going, man?”
“In and out, same-oh, same-oh.”
“How are you treating our car?”
“Yeah, the Buick is riding good. I’m keeping up the tire pressure and getting ready for an oil change. I appreciate the lease you gave me on it, Harley, for a dollar a year.” Harley was five ten, all Mesa Grande Indian, with stylish cut black hair, a sparse little beard, and a slight 140-pound body. His main job seemed to be to help people who spent too much at the casino.
“Let me buy you a drink, Jack. We need to talk. Hey, if you weren’t a SEAL, I’d have dusted you out of here weeks ago. Yeah, you had a string of bad luck, but what can I say? I got a five-thousand-dollar credit for you now, which is on my tab, and that’s as far as it’s going.”
They went into one of the bars in the casino, and Jack felt the sweat begin on his forehead. His armpits were already wet. Damn, he just needed a little luck. Twenty-one, the blackjack table, was the best way a player could beat the house. All the rest of the games and the machines were fixed with a definite house advantage. If he could just read the cards a little better.
“Jack, you aren’t listening to me. You’re into us for five thousand, we have the pink slip to your Buick, and can claim it at any time. If you want to put that five thousand on your MasterCard, I can get you back to the tables.”
“You know I don’t have a credit card.” He hesitated, then pulled out his wallet. “But I do have three hundred dollars. You have any objection to a man spending his own money?”
“Hell, man, I should take it on account. If my boss knew you had that scratch, I’d be in a whole pot of trouble.”
“The Buick is worth twice what I owe you. You want to sell it and give me the extra cash?”
“Hey, man, no worry there. We want to keep you happy. So go ahead. Try the table. Maybe it’ll be good to you tonight.”
“No lie? I can just go and play?”
“That’s the business we’re in, Jack. Go on. Have a blast.”
Mahanani finished the drink, bought three hundred in chips, and went to his favorite blackjack table. He watched the play, mentally bet three times, and won each time. A player left the horseshoe and he moved in.
A familiar calm settled over him. Yeah, this was it, the thinking man’s way to gamble. If you played the odds right and could remember just a few cards. He saw the four decks the dealer was using and frowned. Nobody could count cards with four decks. He’d go with logic and the odds. Yes.