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For a moment the net remained silent. Then Ken Ching broke in. "Yes, Commander. I've got something. Moon is shining off it. Could be an armored personnel carrier of some kind. It's coming hell-for-leather down the road from the east. By the size of the headlights, I'd say it's about a mile away." Murdock took the handset for the radio. "Tom Boy Cover, can you read? This is SEAL, come in."

He said it twice, then the radio speaker spoke.

"Yes, SEAL, read you. This is Tom Boy Cover One."

"We've got trouble coming a mile east of the former 91st tankers' location. Not sure where you are. We'll put two green flares out to mark our location. Target is coming with headlights on from the east about a mile out. Are you anywhere near us?"

"Not a chance I could find you down there, SEALs. Too many lights, flares and such. I'm a poor risk for that kind of work."

As soon as that transmission cut off another one came on.

"SEALs. This is Cobra One. We're within a minute of you. Put out your two green flares. We can spot headlights easily. Be there in about fifty seconds."

"That's a go, Cobra One. We have no weapons to take on an armored personnel carrier. If you don't get here soon, all bets are off getting our package out of here safely."'

"Hang on, SEALs, and pop those flares."

Murdock ran into the open area, lit two green flares, and tossed them into the center of the sports field. Now all they could do was wait and hope.

91st Tank Battalion
Seven miles south of the DMZ
Near Chandan, South Korea

Major Donovan Kitts stood beside his tank and stared hard ahead at the flood tide of the Imjin-gang River. It was too deep right now for a tank to cross. Two bridges capable of holding tanks had been crossed by his six remaining U.S. rigs and then blown up. At the very least that should slow up the North Korean tanks that had smashed his battalion that morning.

Now in the darkness, Major Kitts wondered if he had done the right thing. He'd had no contact with his control headquarters since last night before the invasion.

Ten of his tanks were now piles of junk metal. He'd lost at least forty tank men and all but a handful of his service and headquarters troops. He had no idea how many of them had fled the battalion area just after the bombardment and before the enemy tanks arrived. As far as he knew there were still twelve North Korean tanks chasing him. The Navy fighters with their missiles had destroyed two of the enemy tanks. They had lost two more somewhere else.

He'd watched the air attack from a slight rise on the other side of the river. One missile per tank. The Navy needed a dozen more of those missiles to even things up a bit. He knew that the NK tanks would be after him come morning. He had his six armored machines in what meager cover the men could find. For half the night his men would be chopping down trees and draping limbs over the rigs for momentary camouflage.

With the first round fired, each of his six tanks would give away its position and would be targeted by the twelve tanks chasing them. How to cut down the odds?

Kitts moved away from his tank and walked the area. He found one ditch where a tributary ran down to the main river. He could put one tank in the ditch with room to see and fire over the bank. Yes. That would give that tank a fourteen-foot barricade of solid Korean soil ahead of it.

Where else? He went back and brought out his only other senior officer, First Lieutenant Brady Jolson, and explained what he was looking for. The officer grinned and went in the other direction.

By four a.m. they had put five of the tanks in more secure positions. Three more in gullies formed by tributaries and one in back of the crest of a ridge where it could fire and retreat a dozen feet and be safe.

His own tank was the last one. Where in hell could it go? He had been working up to a half mile behind the river. Now he moved closer, hiking more than he had done in months. Less than fifty yards from the river, he found an ideal spot. Two small streams dumped muddy water into the Imjingang. They formed a small V approaching the main flow.

With only a few yards' movement, he could fire over the embankment on one side of the V at targets on that flank, then reverse and come up on the other side of the V and fire in that direction.

He pondered it. The main problem was that he could be within a hundred yards of the enemy tanks. Flyswatting distance for their 105 guns, which could fire out over two miles. Also, it was can't miss range for return fire. Could he take out enough North Korean tanks before they found him and blew away enough of the embankment to leave him naked and quickly dead?

Major Kitts never gave it another thought. He ran back to his tank, woke up the crew, and moved it down the tributary to the position. They rolled from one side to the other of the V and where the streams combined, testing out the bidirectional firing that he wanted. Yes, it would work well.

His gunner looked at him for a long moment when they had the tank in its first firing position.

"You sure you want to do this, Major?"

"Yeah, Broadhurst, I'm sure. All we have to do is knock out every tank that finds us, then pick off the rest of them. Remember, we have help."

"Sure, help, six against what, a dozen? We're down here in snot-shooting range. Major."

"True, Broadhurst. You want to transfer to a tank farther back?"

The sergeant shook his head. ''No, sir. We almost got one tank early this morning. I'm damn sure not going to pass up a chance to nail about four of the bastards. They killed a lot of my friends today. I'd just as soon blast as many of the sons of bitches straight into Hell as I can."

"Good, Broadhurst, now get some sleep. They'll be coming at us as soon as it's light."

"Major, I had three hours. That's plenty. I think it's your turn. I'll wake you well before dawn. Sack out, sir, and get some rest."

Major Kitts watched his sergeant for a moment, then nodded and flaked out next to a tree. He dropped off to sleep before he knew it.

91st Armored's Former HQ

Murdock kept looking at his watch. The Cobra said less than a minute. He was ahead of the Sea Knights. He looked up the shadowy road to the east and saw the headlights moving toward them. They had slowed and seemed to stop at times. Moving cautiously, not sure what to expect. Good, the longer it took the vehicle to get there, the better for the arriving chopper. The rig was not gung ho to charge into a fight. It stopped and its machine gun chattered at some foe, real or imagined.

Murdock scanned the dark sky to the south. For a moment he thought he heard an engine; then it faded. The next sensation he had was a hornet's nest right over his head. The Cobra popped up from its ground-hugging flight path and slammed over the green flares at fifty feet, swung to the left, and angled toward the rig with the lights. The radio came on.

"Yes, SEALs, I have him. He just turned out his lights but I know where he is. He can't hide. Thank God for the good moon." The chopper angled toward the vehicle. Murdock heard the cannon firing then, the big 20mm rounds jolting out of the three barrels as fast as a machine gun. He could see the rounds hitting, but didn't know how much damage they did.

"Okay, SEALs, no fireworks yet. I'll make another run with the rockets and see what we can do.

Far as I can tell, he's dead in the water there. Not going anywhere." The Cobra made a tight circle and came in at the rig from a sideways angle. The 70mm rockets thundered out of the pods along the body of the chopper, and a moment later exploded on and around the enemy vehicle. A second more, and the fuel tank exploded, showering the countryside with bits and pieces of metal and flaming gasoline.