“I’m assuming it’s steel, Paul…anyone know better?”
“The door on the individual cell block on the right is steel,” said Syd Thomas. “And it was locked. I gave it a shove, turned the ’andle and it never budged.”
“Okay, let’s blow it right now. Det-cord, someone…”
“Right here, Rick.” Dan Conway had a big reel he’d been carrying around for five minutes in anticipation of this.
“Who’s going?”
“I’ll do it,” said Buster. “I got fucking speed to burn.”
They all laughed as the SEAL from the bayous grabbed the loose end and told Dan to hang on to the reel and play it out. “Right now I’m gone…”
Buster flew through the lefthand side of the gateway and made for the small cell block on the left, racing into the shadows. He paused for a moment and then ran along the edge of the wall, just as a machine gun opened up from the main cell block window. They all saw Buster go down, and Rick ordered instant gunfire at the window from which the fire had come.
Steve Whipple delivered it from the big machine gun he had positioned just inside the gate behind the rubble of the guardroom. The clatter of the gun silenced the Chinese resistance for the moment, and as it did so, Buster sprang to his feet and charged on to the door, still holding the end of the det-cord.
They all saw him reach the door and start winding the stuff around the handle and the gap around the lock. He reached for his knife, wound another length in around the hinges and then spliced the ends together.
Then he turned and raced back the way he had come, just as Steve pounded another 25 rounds through the silent window.
“Fuck me,” said Rick. “I thought they got you.”
“What? Those assholes? I’ve fought fucking alligators a lot more scary than them. Blow it out, Dan.”
Lieutenant Conway cut the length of cord and hit the fuse, instantly blasting the steel door off its hinges and leaving it leaning halfway into the cells.
Rick Hunter signaled his 20 troops in, and they set off at a jog for the main cell block, with Steve Whipple still firing short, steady bursts at the window where once there had been machine-gun fire.
Twenty yards from the block, the giant SEAL leader increased his pace and made for the door. He slammed his boot into it, kicking it in, and swung right, firing from the hip straight down the outer corridor, at the same time yelling, “All right, guys. This is a force of the United States Navy here to liberate our prisoners. Any Chinese guards, come out with your hands high.”
Dan Conway stood at Rick’s shoulder just as the two duty guards burst from cover at the end of the corridor and opened fire. At least, they tried to open fire, but Rick Hunter and Dan Conway cut them down in their tracks with their trusty MP-5s. Each of the Chinese guards took 10 rounds before they hit the floor.
“That’s pretty good shooting, pal,” said a deep American voice from inside the first barred cell on the left. “I’ll say one thing, you guys sure know how to make a fucking noise.”
Rick Hunter could have died with relief. This was the first real hard evidence he and his team had that the American crew were here at all.
“Cover that end of the corridor, Dan, Bobby,” he said. “Anything moves, blow its head off.”
Then he turned toward the cell, and saw a brawny arm sticking through the bars.
It was dark inside, and the face was hard to see, but the voice was firm and the grip strong.
“Am I glad to see you. I’m Captain Judd Crocker, USS Seawolf.”
“Hello, sir. Lieutenant Commander Hunter. SEALs.”
Judd looked at his blackened face, battle dress, bandana, hot machine gun. “I didn’t think you were from public relations,” he said, chuckling.
All the SEALs within earshot laughed at the still-droll submarine commander. “I suppose we haven’t got any keys, have we?” said Rick.
“If we had, we probably wouldn’t be here…and I don’t think the guards carry any. When they open the cell doors, which ain’t that often, a special little lieutenant comes in and does it himself.”
“Okay, sir…I thought we might have that problem. We’ve got plenty of small charges, and the little lieutenant is probably dead somewhere. Rattlesnake!”
The other SEAL from the bayous came forward and stuck a handful of white plastic C4 on the lock. “Stand back, sir…geddown over there against the wall…rest of you get back while I fire this…”
He fixed the firing cap and the C4 blew the lock clean off the door. Seawolf’s CO was free.
Judd came out and shook hands with his rescuer, telling him, “There’s just two single cells here, the rest are communal, I think eight of my guys in each one — some of ’em not in great shape, but I think we’re mostly alive.”
Rattlesnake blew the next door lock, and then shouted back, “Hey, sir…there’s no one in here.”
“DAMN!” snapped the captain. “That’s Linus. I thought I heard them move him about an hour ago. You guys didn’t destroy the big building to the right of the gates going out, did you?”
“No, sir. We hit one room only, left of the front door.”
“Good. That’s where the interrogators sit. I think we might find a couple of our guys in that building, down at the other end — my XO and the combat systems officer, Cy Rothstein.”
“Okay, sir…lemme just hand this locksmith crap over to Lieutenant Conway, then we’ll put Lieutenant Commander Davidson to work on the other two smaller cell blocks…meanwhile, let’s just sweep this place for guards, then we’ll go and find the two officers in the interrogation block.…Quick, Buster, Paul, Bobby, come with me…Rattlesnake, try not to blow us up as we come by.”
The four SEALs moved to the end of the corridor. From inside the end cell, a voice said quietly, “Careful, sir…there’s one of them still around that corner…the lieutenant…little bastard.”
“Any of our guys in that area around the back?”
“Nossir. We’re all in the area along this corridor. Ten big cells, eight of us in each. I’m Lieutenant Warren, sir. Officer of the Deck.”
“Okay, old buddy. We’ll have you all out of here in a minute.”
“Are you guys SEALs?”
“’Fraid so.”
Rick Hunter turned to Lieutenant Merloni and said, “No reason to take chances…gimme one of those hand grenades, willya?”
He gripped it in his hand, which was like putting a marble in the joint of a leg of lamb. Then he pulled the pin and hurled it around the corner. The impact inside the building was an ear-shuddering thud, and the guard lieutenant died with his boots on.
“That’s all of ’em, sir,” yelled Andy Warren. “I count the little pricks in every night, and I count the little pricks out again in the morning.” Arnold Morgan would have been proud of his phraseology.
By now Rattlesnake Davies had found a rhythm, and he was blowing locks at a fast rate. Lieutenant Conway was going inside each cell, occasionally calling for Olaf’s team to bring in a stretcher. The men from the first cells, nearest the obliterated door, were beginning to file out into the yard, and Chief McCarthy was suggesting they line up in some sort of order in case there were people missing.
“Right here we got a crew list,” he said. “I’ve given one to the captain, but we really don’t want to leave anyone behind, so can I ask you to get into lines…anyone want a crew list, I have ’em right here…anyone knows of a missing person, lemme know, okay?”
“They shot Skip Laxton dead on the first day,” someone called.
“And we haven’t seen Brad Stockton or Cy Rothstein for a coupla days.”
Chief McCarthy noticed that the men looked terrible, hollow-cheeked, haggard, many with bruises on their faces, some with blood. The second stretcher was coming out with a crewman strapped in, his leg fractured by a rifle butt. The first one had contained another crewman who kept drifting in and out of consciousness after a very bad beating. He had worked for Lieutenant Commander Rothstein.