“No kidding. Pearl is getting clobbered,” Ed DeWitt said.
Murdock repeated the message into the mike and they waited.
A moment later the set responded.
“Commander Murdock. Heard your transmission to CINCPAC. Not sure who the hell you are, but this is Air Force Eagle Six. We’re airborne about five miles out on the leeward side of Oahu. I can’t raise Hickam Field. You copy?”
“Eagle Six. Hickam might be off the air. Pearl Harbor next door has taken six or eight missile hits. Real ones. CINCPAC is off the air. There goes another missile into Pearl. We’re on the Koolau Range about ten to twelve miles from the field. I can’t raise CINCPAC.”
“Yeah, Commander, your boss man in the Pacific. So where do we put down? We have six Air Force birds here without a lot of reserve in the tanks.”
“You have an alternate field?”
“On Oahu? Only place they told us about was the Honolulu International, which also serves Hickam. Did the runways get hit?”
“We can’t tell from here. I’d say the missile strike is over. But you can’t land without some radio contact with the field. Suggest you make a call to Kaneohe Marine Corps Air Station. It’s just across the ridge from Pearl flying northeast. About fifteen miles from Pearl. You can try radio contact with them on the emergency channel. They have a long runway there.”
“That’s a Roger, Commander Murdock. Thanks. We’re out.”
By that time all of the SEALs had gathered near the big tree, and about half of the Aussies and Brits.
Leftenant Anderson of the Australian Special Attack Forces shook his head. “Is something afoot we don’t know about?”
“If CINCPAC is off the air, something damn big is happening,” Murdock said. “They usually have security a mile deep down there and the communications room is like a tomb, it’s so safe.”
“Only not this time,” Holt said. “How about giving Don Stroh a try?”
Murdock slapped Holt on the shoulder. “Good idea. Set it up and let’s go.”
Holt adjusted the settings on the radio and nodded. Murdock took the handset again.
“Commander Blake Murdock calling Don Stroh. Don Stroh, if you’re there, get on the horn. We’ve got trouble in paradise. Somebody just shot eight or ten medium-sized missiles into Pearl Harbor. Come back.”
There was no reply.
“It gets recorded and he gets beeped automatically when something comes in on his frequency,” Holt said. “So he’ll get it as soon as anyone can find him.”
A British lieutenant came up with his men and asked what was going on.
“The training exercise is over,” Murdock told them. “It’s been good working with you SAS guys, but now it looks like we’ve got ourselves a real war going on down there. We’ve been attacked by missiles from someone. Seems like most of the communications are down. Time we get down there and see what’s going on. We’re about two miles from our base camp. Get your men down there fast and let’s pack up. The trucks are another hour’s hike out. Let’s move, people.”
After an hour, they stopped and tried the SATCOM again. The second time they had a response from Don Stroh.
“Yeah, Murdock. Good to know you’re okay. We don’t know what the hell is going on out there except that our reports show that someone has launched an attack against Oahu. Thinking here is it has to be China. Only one with any real problem with us in the Pacific who has the capability. When we can, we’ll put you on TAD with CINCPAC. Keep us informed.”
Murdock called Ed DeWitt over.
“Who was that commander who served as our liaison with CINCPAC the first day we arrived?”
“Somebody Johnson. Commander Johnson,” Ed said. He watched his CO. “What the hell we going to do?”
“Maybe this Commander Johnson can tell us. We reported in at Pearl, right? What department was that?”
“He was from the Pearl Harbor Training Command, as I remember,” Will Dobler, Senior Chief Boatswain’s Mate, said. “He was grousing about it, wanting to get back to sea duty.”
“Francis,” Murdock said. “Commander Francis Johnson.”
“Right,” Ed said. “Only it was the CINCPAC Training Command.”
“Try that on the radio,” Murdock said. “Stow these paint guns and get out our usual weapons. We have live ammo, right?”
“Oh, yes,” Senior Chief Dobler said. “The Brits wanted to see just how much gear and ammo we carried when we went into a mission.”
“Pearl must be a mess after the attack, but CINCPAC is up on the hill five miles away,” Murdock said, thinking out loud. “Why are they off the air? They told us to give them a call at CINCPAC whenever we needed anything.”
“Hey, reminds me,” DeWitt said. “Johnson gave me a phone number in case we got cut off by the CINCPAC officialdom. Right here.” He handed a small notebook to Murdock.
The commander looked at Holt, who made two settings on the SATCOM and looked up. “Ready for you to dial the cellular phone, Skipper.”
Murdock hit the buttons and a few moments later the speaker came to life.
“Yes, yes. What do you want? All hell is still on the loose here. Who is this?”
“Commander Johnson, this is Lieutenant Commander Blake Murdock, with the SEALs. We were on the Koolau Range when the missile hit. They were missiles, weren’t they?”
“God, yes. But first, somehow they knocked out all of our radio communications. All we have are phones. Going mad. How fast can you get down here? The admiral wants you to do a small job for us. The faster the better. You have transport?”
“Right, we do. I’d say about an hour from here, depending on the traffic. Have the civilians panicked yet?”
“Not that we’ve heard about. All the damage is on-base. They were good, whoever the hell they were. Make it here in an hour and don’t worry about stop signs and traffic lights. Blow your horn all the way. We need you here damn fast. Instead of Pearl, go right up to the Marine Corps’ Camp Smith about five miles up the hill. The admiral has a job for you. A guide will be waiting for you at the gate. Move it, Commander.”
Half the men were in the three trucks. Murdock bellowed that they were moving out. The rest loaded in less than two minutes. Murdock sat in the front seat of the lead six-by and told the driver the drill.
“Yes, sir, I can get there the fastest way. All you SEALs in this rig?” Murdock nodded. “Good, tell them to hold on.”
The usually crowded Pali Highway was jammed by the time they got there. Horns honking, people yelling. The SEALs wound through traffic, on the shoulder, anywhere they could find room.
It wasn’t panic traffic, but thousands of cars were on the move that usually wouldn’t be. Some of the drivers were on the nervous edge, and there were six crashes that Murdock saw before they got to Highway 1 and Pearl City.
The driver knew where the Marine Camp was above Pearl City, and he drove right to the gate. It was blocked by two huge bulldozers.
Two Marines in helmets, combat gear, and weapons came forward and checked the truck.
“We’ve got orders to report to Commander Johnson at CINCPAC Training as fast as possible,” Murdock told the SP.
The SP frowned. “You them SEAL guys? Told us you was coming.”
“That’s right, now move the machinery.” They did.
The truck driver stopped just inside the gate. A guide waved him down. A major looked at the driver.
“You have the SEALs here, sailor?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is a Lieutenant Commander Murdock on board?”
“That’s me, Major,” Murdock said.
“Follow my rig.” The major stepped into a Humvee and it roared away with the six-by right behind it.
Both vehicles stopped at an imposing building a short ways later. The major led Murdock, Lam, Senior Chief Dobler, and Ed DeWitt to a guarded door. The Marine guard saluted the major and opened the door. The SEALs wore their combat vests, cammies, and carried their weapons.