Again the general was the last man over the berm because he moved slower than all the rest. Once on the ground on the South side, he took over at once.
"Who the hell's in charge here?" he bellowed.
A first lieutenant in the Republic of Korea troops hurried up and saluted. He chattered in Korean. The general brushed him aside.
"Get the SATCOM. Where is it? I want a chopper in here within five minutes. Streib, get your ass over here with my SATCOM and roust those bastards back in Regiment. I want some action, now."
Murdock pulled his platoon to one side. He took Master Sergeant Wilcox with him.
"Stay away from the general," Murdock said. "He's furious that he had to walk out. Now, how do we get out of here to where we can get picked up by a Navy chopper?"
"Sir, I'd say about half a mile down the road here and to the left is a field you can use for your LZ. Be glad to show you the way."
"What sector is this? How can you tell our chopper where to find us?"
"Get me on the horn with your pilot and I can guide him in here like biscuits to gravy."
"Good, come with us." Murdock moved the platoon out without another look at the general. Holt hooked up with the carrier on the SATCOM, and ten minutes later he had contact with a Sea Knight on the way to pick them up.
Holt put the sergeant on, and the noncom gave the directions. "Right, sir. We're sector twelve. I can give you coordinates; then we'll pop a couple of red flares in the LZ. Yes, sir, a secure area and we'll be at least a klick behind the MLR. Right, sir, we'll see you in about thirty."
With the sergeant leading, it took them another ten minutes to get to the field. It was a former rice paddy, larger than most, and still half-frozen from the winter chill.
Holt kept on the SATCOM with the Sea Knight, and when he was close enough, they threw out two red flares. The big bird settled down and Murdock gave the sergeant a handshake, then ran with his men for the loading door on the big helo.
Just inside, Murdock found Don Stroh with a huge grin.
"You did it, you sonofabitch, you did it."
"Never a doubt, except when that asshole general and his men all got drunk and nearly gave our position away."
"Heard about that. General Reynolds heard about your chewing out your general buddy. He's not the most popular man in the command. But he and his staff knew too much to risk getting them caught. If you couldn't extricate them, they were going to call in an air strike and waste all seven of them."
"Major Streib should get part of the credit for the mission. He's a good man. I want you to pass that along to the general. He was a good help."
Murdock saw the last man in the chopper. He looked at DeWitt.
"We have fourteen bodies, Commander, all ready to move," DeWitt said.
"Tell the crew. Let's get out of here."
Murdock looked around at his SEALs in the faint light. "Somebody got hit back there on that final MLR. Who picked up the lead?"
"Must be me, if nobody else is bleeding," Colt Franklin said, his voice soft, shaky.
Mahanani found him sitting against the side of the chopper. "Where?"
"My side. Don't seem all that bad." His voice trailed off. Mahanani got him stretched out on the floor and with a flashlight checked the wounded man. He put a compress on the entry point of the bullet and felt under the man's back. The slug hadn't come out. He gave Franklin a shot of morphine, and covered him up with a pair of Navy blankets from the helo.
"You take it easy, buddy. Have you in sick bay before you know it. You've got a slug inside somewhere that the docs will find. Looks like no more late-night assignments for you for a while."
A half hour later, Murdock and DeWitt talked with the surgeon in the Monroe's sick bay.
"We'll have to go in and take out that slug. We found it and it's not in a critical position, but it has to come out. It missed most of the vitals, but did nick part of the small intestine. He won't be fit for duty for a month at least."
"Thanks, Doc," Murdock said. "We'll check with you tomorrow." He looked at his watch. It was still in the stopwatch mode. He punched the button for the current time: 2320. Time for a good night's sleep. All he had to do was write up the after-action report. A lot of people were going to be reading this one, including the general they'd saved. No wonder the Eighth Army didn't want anyone else to know the man's name. That sounded like the Army.
14
Miguel Fernandez dropped on his bunk and closed his eyes. It had been a long day. He'd cleaned his weapon, shaped up his gear, and repacked everything ready to roll. If and when. He gave a big sigh. The head again. He could go for eight hours on a mission without needing to urinate, but back on the ship it hit him every hour or so. He pushed his feet down to the floor from the three-high bunk, and bumped into Joe Douglas. They stared at each other.
"What's the matter, you never saw a white man before?" Douglas said, his face stitched with a sneer.
''Not an asshole one like you, Douglas."
Douglas had eased away from the other man. Now he lunged forward. Mahanani grabbed him by the cammie shirt and jerked him backward like a weightless rag doll.
"Hold it there, fast stuff," Mahanani said easily. "Hey, you're not getting this berthing into trouble. Thought the JG told you guys to stay apart."
"Just coming to get something from Quinley," Douglas said with a touch of a whine. "Then this fucking spic jumps down on me."
"Didn't know you were there or I'd have stomped you good," Fernandez said. He'd been called worse names, but the racist jibe from Douglas was ten times as bad. He glared at Douglas.
Mahanani prodded Douglas toward the door. "Little buddy, best you get out of here. Get whatever you need from Quin tomorrow. We're all tired and hurting. Things will look better in the sunlight."
"Hell, no," Fernandez shouted. "This has been going on for too long. Let's get it finished right here with fists and no rules."
Mahanani laughed. "Fernandez, you're not that stupid. Everyone knows what the JG told you two. One more blowup and you're both out of SEALs digging snow in Adak, Alaska. You want that?"
"I'm not gonna let some — "
Mahanani grabbed Fernandez and pushed him against the bunks. "You'd rather give up what you've worked for for three years — to be a SEAL? You're not that stupid, Fernandez."
He stared hard at both men. "Fernandez, get back in your bunk. Douglas, you get out of here and back to your compartment. If any hint of this gets back to the JG, I'll smash a few heads just for the fun of it. You guys hear?"
Douglas snorted and stalked out of the berthing compartment. Fernandez lay back in his bunk, no longer needing to go to the head. When Fernandez looked up, the big Hawaiian/Tahitian stood there grinning at him.
"Hey, little buddy, it goes down hard, but it goes down. I've had some of that too, through the years. I know how bad you want to stay in SEALs, so do it." He leaned in closer so no one else could hear him. "Yeah, I know what happened at that barbecue on the beach. I was there, remember? Nothing you can't live with for a while. I wouldn't give Douglas a hell of a long time in this platoon. He's a natural fuckup. Just hang on, things will get better. If it gets too bad, I'll go to the JG."
"No, Mahan, don't do that. I can fight my own fights."
"Not if the other guy is always hitting below the belt. Now just relax. It's over for tonight." Then Fernandez knew he had to get to the head. He eased down, and looked at Mahanani. "You want to hold my hand while I take a piss."
"I think you can handle that," the big Hawaiian said, and slid into his bunk.