The men with the twenties began to fire only seconds after the flares hit. There was an immediate outcry and confusion in the line of Chinese troops around the truck. The SEALs could hear orders being shouted. Then more rounds exploded in deadly airbursts, and Murdock saw some of the dug-in men stumbling around with wounds. Others picked up and ran for the rear, away from the deadly shrapnel from the sky.
“Two more flares, white-parachute ones,” Murdock ordered. The flares went up and burst over the scene, giving the other shooters targets in the sudden glare.
The firing sequence lasted only for three minutes. Murdock called a cease-fire. He could see no shots coming from the positions. One section right behind the beer truck could have suffered fewer casualties than the rest of the circle, but all had taken a deadly total.
“Two EAR rounds in the area,” Murdock said. “One on the right side of the truck, the other on the left.”
After a hurried radio talk, the two EAR shooters coordinated and fired.
When the whooshing turned into an ear-pounding roar, Murdock hit the lip mike.
“Let’s move up in a line. No firing unless we get some shots from survivors. Moving out.”
The SEALs swept forward. No shots came from the defenders. The SEALs used flashlights to check the bodies. Three shots were fired, dispatching wounded. There was no sign of the white men. Ching inspected the vehicle and told Murdock the bad news.
“The rig got hit hard. No way we can get the engine running. All the plug wires are shot to hell and half the other wiring. We’ve got four flat tires. The JG’s suggestion about towing could work. We’ve got some chain in the Humvee.”
“Go get the Hummer,” Murdock said. “We’ll stand guard in case some close-by friends of the family drop in. Make it fast. Some of them bugged out and will report down some line of vocal communication if no other way. I wonder how many of these troopers the Marines missed up here.” Ching ran down the road.
Five minutes later Ching drove the Humvee into the small clearing and backed up to the nose of the beer truck. Murdock had checked the bomb in the wooden crate. First order was to take the lead-blanket shield out of the Humvee and drape it over the top and sides of the bomb. It was almost big enough.
By that time Ching had the tow cable fixed, and the men gathered around as he gunned the Humvee’s l50-hp V8 diesel engine with the automatic transmission and eased up on the tow chain.
The chain strained. Then the beer truck inched forward. Lam sat in the driver’s seat with one foot ready on the truck’s brakes so it didn’t slam into the Humvee. The men gave a whispered cheer as the Humvee moved down the road towing the beer truck behind it. The flat tires flapped and shuddered, but they weren’t moving fast enough to throw the tires off the rims. It made easier going.
Soon the pair of rigs was up to nearly five miles an hour, and the straining Humvee diesel kept it moving in low gear. Murdock and Ronson took up a position as rear guard. DeWitt and Fernandez had the point.
It was too quiet. Murdock didn’t like that. He left Ronson on the rear guard and jogged to the front of the column. The Humvee was straining over the more level ground, but still moving the bomb. They had to get it out where they could call in a chopper pickup. A pickup for the bomb. They stopped at the spot where the other Humvee sat. Quickly, the second lead blanket was added to the first one over the bomb crate and the parade continued.
They had traveled what Murdock figured was another mile, and he could almost smell the salt air, when DeWitt came boiling back from the front.
“Boss, we’ve got big troubles. I could hear them a mile away. Didn’t think they could be for real. When they came close enough, I made them with my NVGs. Must be a whole damn battalion out there in front of us in a blocking position right across the road. No way we can go cross-country with this beer truck.”
“A battalion? How could they get in front of us? Where were they hiding when the Marines were here? Show me.”
Five minutes later, Murdock was satisfied. The Chinese force straddled the road ahead and fanned out on both sides for at least a half mile. The troops were singing, shouting. He saw some cooking fires, even though it was not yet 0400. Murdock surveyed the landscape in the moonlight.
They were in what was left of the coastal plain. It couldn’t be more than four or five miles to the ocean. The area was laced with networks of dirt tracks and roads.
“We set up the MGs and sniper rifles, and get out our Bull Pups and make a blast at their troops on the road and on each side.” Murdock was instructing his men through the Motorola.
“We use the twenties and the EAR and everything we have. Hopefully, we can punch a hole through and blast out of here with the three rigs.”
“At five miles an hour?” Lam asked on the net.
“Probably not, but it’s worth a try. Let’s get in a thick line across the road and take a shot at it.”
Parachute flares walked down to the Chinese. They were five hundred yards ahead. The lasers targeted the Chinese in the light, and the deadly firepower of a full SEAL platoon lashed out at the enemy.
At once the SEALs took return fire, and dove into ditches and behind trees for protection. The lead Humvee took a dozen rounds, but the supplemental armor shed the lead and left little damage.
Murdock lifted up from the shallow ditch on the right-hand side and surveyed the situation. The Chinese had taken serious casualties from the twenties, but they still had enough men to throw out deadly counter-battery fire.
No chance to get through. Murdock scowled in the dark. He hated leaving the bomb, but it was all he could do under the circumstances. They couldn’t get the bomb through the Chinese force, that was clear. Now all he had to figure out was just what the hell they did next.
13
“Unhook the beer truck from the lead Hummer,” Murdock barked. “We’re bugging out into the fields to the north. We can outrun them in the rig and live to fight another day.”
“What about the bomb?” DeWitt asked.
“We leave it here, for now. We’ll be back. We’ll contact CINCPAC for their suggestions. Maybe drop in two hundred Marines to secure the area and lift it out with a chopper. Let’s choggie, ladies. Time we got the hell out of Dodge.”
They dropped the tow chain and gave covering fire against the roadblock ahead as the two Humvees charged down a dirt track to the north and away from the Chinese.
Murdock went out a mile, then stopped, and Holt set up the SATCOM.
CINCPAC was excited.
“You found the bomb. You have it under control?”
Murdock explained the problem.
“We’ll advise you. Get into a safe position and hold.”
“Roger that,” Murdock said, and started to turn off the mike. “Better leave it on receive,” he said to Holt. “It might take them some time to figure out what to do.”
“Right now the fucking Chinese have moved up the road and taken control of the beer truck and the bomb,” DeWitt said, using his binoculars and his NVGs.
“Casualties?” Murdock asked over the Motorola.
“I’m not feeling what I’d call great.”
Murdock recognized Ronson’s voice. “Ronson, you hit?”
“Picked up a lead messenger in my chest. Not feeling at all chipper, Skipper.”
Mahanani bailed out of the other Humvee and slid into Murdock’s. He found Ronson sitting against the side of the rig. He laid the SEAL down and opened his vest and his shirt. His flashlight showed a round purple hole in Ronson’s chest six inches below his left shoulder. When the corpsman felt around Ronson’s back, his hand came out smeared with blood.