“Roger that. Who is this speaking?”
“Lieutenant (j.g.) DeWitt, sir. Second in command.”
“Thank you. Expect a reply within two hours.”
When DeWitt went back under the trees to his small CP, he found Murdock sleeping. He touched his forehead. DeWitt scowled.
“Hey, Doc, Murdock is burning up with a fever. Get up here and see what the hell is wrong with him and what you can do about it.”
25
Murdock woke up as soon as Mahanani started to check him.
“Hey, Skipper, you’re flaking out on me? Where did this temperature come from? You have a fever?”
“Hell, you’re the corpsman.”
“You allergic to morphine?”
“Never have been before.”
The big Hawaiian/Tahitian scowled. “Might have developed it. I’ll hit you with some ibuprofen, that might do it. Just don’t put any pressure on the shoulder. I better put your arm in a sling to be sure you don’t forget and use it.”
He rigged a sling from a big square of cloth and tied it around Murdock’s neck. “Now, just chill out the rest of the night, Skip. We’ll get some medics working on you first thing in the morning.”
“Yeah, right. Get back to your post.” Murdock frowned. What the hell, he felt like he was sloughing off. He should at least have a spot in the perimeter. Hell, what was going on? He knew he should be doing something. Ed. Ed DeWitt had the con. Yeah. Relax. Good old Ed would do the job. Yeah, try and relax. Tired. So fucking tired. Yeah. Maybe he could grab a little nap about now. Maybe.
When DeWitt checked Murdock ten minutes later he was sleeping. Good. He needed it. His shoulder was more than just a flesh wound. DeWitt didn’t want to think what might happen in the future with a bad shoulder wound. He couldn’t worry about that. He had the here and now.
“Net check. Alpha Squad first.” DeWitt listened as the five remaining members of the group checked in. Then his Bravo Squad all reported in. Good. Now they waited.
It would be a long night. DeWitt made sure there was a round in the chamber of his weapon, and settled down to scan the open places in front of him. He had done it fifty times already. He’d do it two hundred more times before daylight. Part of the job.
By 04l6 there had been no response from CINCPAC. He stirred Ron Holt out of his nest and had him ring up the commander of the Pacific.
“Red Hill calling CINCPAC.”
He had to make the call three times before he had any response.
“Yes, Red Hill. Go ahead.”
“No response from you on request for two Sea Knights to be flown to the Maui airport for quick evac of our wounded, prisoners and hostages. Any report?”
“Yes, Red Hill. We’ve been busy tonight. The admiral approved the birds and they should be in position at Kahului airport by now. You can check on TAC Two. They will return everyone to Hickam. Keep us posted. Have you found the governor yet?”
“Negative on the governor. Expect to find him with daylight in about two hours.”
“Roger that. CINCPAC out.”
DeWitt decided to wait on trying to contact the choppers. Time enough for that when they needed them. Another hour until any kind of light at all. How did they try to find the hostages? Stand on the cliff and yell? Might be a thought. Maybe the hostages would find them. That was a better idea. He hoped that they had escaped and hadn’t been unchained, led out somewhere, and assassinated.
He sent Holt back to his position and began another sweep of the zone in front where he could see. Nothing. Nothing again. All night he had been waiting for something to show up. Now he was just as pleased that nothing had developed. Had they taken out all of the Chinese? Shortly after daylight they should know.
It was still an hour until daylight when Chun found the first house. He wasn’t sure if it had something to do with the cattle range he had been crossing for the past five miles. It sat on a rise a mile from the beach. He could see the surf through the predawn twilight.
The house had a garage and two barns. It stood at the end of a dirt road. Two old trucks were parked at one side. Neither looked as if it could run. On the far side a pole corral waited for occupants with the gate open. There were no lights on in the house.
He checked for any kind of an outside clothesline. Nothing. The house would be a large risk. Still, he had to get out of his Chinese Army uniform. At the lower elevation it was warmer, and he had taken off his Army blouse and discarded it, shivering in his round-necked white undershirt.
Chun lay beside a tree for ten minutes watching the house. Nothing moved. No sounds came. Evidently there was no dog, or it would have smelled and heard him by now. By nature he was not a violent man. But this was something he had to do. His very life depended on it.
His mind made up, he sprinted across the open area to the side door of the house. He tried the knob. Unlocked. Gently he pushed the door inward. In the deeper darkness he could see little. He waited for his eyes to adjust. Gradually he made out shadows and forms. It was a food kitchen with table and chairs. No one was there. He looked around for clothes, but there were none.
Chun heard someone coming. He ducked low against the wall. The room blazed with light as a hand turned a switch just inside a door across the room. Blinded by the light, Chun remained motionless. He opened his eyes a little at a time, then closed them. It was a man who had come into the room. He went to cupboards and took out food and turned on a gas flame under a pot of water.
For tea, or coffee. Chun lifted up and charged the man with only his hands as weapons.
“What the hell? Who are you?” the man blurted out. But he didn’t have time to avoid the rush of the Chinese soldier. Chun hit the rancher in the side with his shoulder, slammed him against the cupboards, then pushed him to the floor.
“Give up and I won’t hurt you,” Chun said, his English precisely correct.
“Who the hell are you?”
Chun dropped hard on top of the man and pinned him to the floor. One of the rancher’s arms had fallen behind him and now he lay on it. Chun’s hands circled the man’s throat. He applied enough pressure to cut off the air to the man’s lungs. He knew how long to hold it. This had been part of his hand-to-hand — combat training. When the man’s eyes bulged and he went limp, Chun pulled his hands away. Yes, the man was about his own size. He would strip off the clothes and vanish before anyone else in the household awoke.
An hour later, Chun walked along the Coast Highway 31 on his way to Kaupo. Signs along the way told how many units it was to the town. Since this was America, it must mean miles. As he walked, he examined the billfold that had been in the rancher’s pocket. He had been trained in American money. He counted 148 dollars and some change.
A car came up fast behind him. He remembered about hitchhiking and pushed out his thumb. The car slashed past him and vanished around a curve. The identification in the billfold might be a handicap if anyone were looking for him. He threw away all of the cards with the man’s name on them, kept the billfold and money, and continued walking.
A half hour later, a farm truck slowed as it came near him, and stopped when he held out his thumb. Chun ran toward the rig and peered in the window.
“Can you take me into town?” he asked the gray-bearded man who drove the rig.
“Sure can, boy. You must be new around here. Don’t remember seeing you before.”
“Yes, just arrived. Taking the grand tour before I go to work in my cousin’s store.”
“Chinese, right?” the man said.
“Yes.”
“Always have admired how you people take care of your own. I mean, you get jobs for each other, help start businesses that need opening. Damn fine job. Us haoles never quite got it together so we could do that. Where you come from?”