Battleground (27 page)

Murdock stepped behind the pile of wood, plaster, and trash and nodded. Yes. It was jumbled enough that they could fit into holes and crannies. If they didn’t move, somebody walking past along the fence probably wouldn’t notice them. He found a spot and slid into it, as did the other men.

Lincoln came along a short time later and picked his place.

“Now we wait,” Murdock said into his mike.

Holt moved up closer to Murdock and passed an earpiece to him. He had set the frequency to UHF so he could talk to or listen to the tactical aircraft. The sound came through clearly.

“Cover One to Rover.”

“This is Rover.”

“Cover One. We shadowed the big bird in the last twenty miles. They landed, discharged, and did their thing at the front of the complex. We find no air in the vicinity whatsoever.”

“Very well, Cover One. Come home.”

“That’s a Roger, Rover.”

The radio went silent. Murdock handed the plug back to Holt. “Monitor it so we’ll know when the bomb runs start.”

Holt nodded and eased back from Murdock into his shelter in the wreckage. Murdock checked his watch. It was 0435. Another half hour at least to dawn, then another three hours to attack time for the Hornets.

“We’ve got some wait time. Guard duty for the man on each end. Rest of you rest easy but watchful.”

It grew light gradually, which fooled Murdock for a moment. Then it seemed suddenly to be daylight, with the sun brimming the far eastern sky. The men wormed deeper into the rubble. Some of them pulled boards over them to help the jungle cammies blend in better.

It was just after 0600 when two men on bicycles pedaled along the outside of the fence. They were young, not soldiers. They never even glanced at the pile of rubble. Murdock held his breath when they came to the spot where the SEALs had cut the fence. Neither of them looked at the spot. Instead they shouted to each other, then pedaled hard in a race. Murdock relaxed.

Murdock’s legs started to cramp. He moved, and bent them, and tried to get them relaxed. As he did, he checked his watch again. Had it stopped? No, it showed almost 0700. Another hour. The birds should be talking soon. From the deck of the carrier to this spot the Hornets should take about fifteen to eighteen minutes at their jet speed.

Murdock looked to the north, and saw a small military jeep-like vehicle working its way slowly along the outside of the fence. He frowned. He didn’t remember any road beyond the fence. The rig came closer and closer until it was less than seventy-five yards from the far end of the trash pile. Then the driver did an abrupt turn and went back the way he had come. The second man in the rig had a pair of
binoculars, but didn’t seem all that interested in using them.

Murdock gave a small sigh of relief. Time dragged. No one seemed interested in the trash. Red Nicholson had been to both ends of the trash pile checking the area directly ahead. He came back, and talked in whispers with Murdock.

“Looks like the top of the thee-story building is dead ahead, north,” Red said. “I figure we have some barracks between here and there, and then a parade ground and maybe some shops and even a motor pool. Can’t be sure.”

“So we blast right up the street and take out anybody who gets in the way,” Murdock said.

“Looks that way, L-T. Course when we get there, it may look different. Situation and terrain.”

Murdock grunted.

At 0734, Holt handed Murdock the SATCOM radio ear plug and handset. He listened.

“Dropper One to Rover.”

“Yes, Dropper.”

“I have five chicks with me heading upstream. We have cover?”

“One Cover on station waiting and watching.”

“Roger. We’ll stay in touch.”

Murdock used his Motorola mike. “The flyboys are on the way. Another ten minutes or so. Let’s get awake and ready.”

SEALs were good at waiting. It was drilled into them in their training and in operations. There was one optimum time for every attack, every phase of every operation. When it was time to go, the SEALs would go.

Murdock monitored the aircraft as they came closer. The one Hornet on cover duty overhead reported no aerial activity around the small country of Kenya that its radars could pick up. They could scan two hundred miles in every direction.

Then the radio message came that Murdock had been waiting for.

“Dropper One making run. I have one egg away.”

Murdock had worked his way to the near end of the trash pile, and now moved up so he could see around it and watch
the attack. He didn’t see the Hornet fighter-bomber until it had passed overhead. At almost the same time a shattering explosion took place ahead of them. Murdock felt the blast of hot air, and then the sound flashed past them. He spotted smoke and dust from the top of the three-story HQ building less than six hundred yards from them.

Before the dust had settled on the first bomb, a second, and then a third hit the target.

The pilots’ chatter came now and then, mostly indicating that they were on final approach. Murdock had no way of knowing how many times the aircraft passed over the target. He knew six planes were in the air. They could have five-hundred- or thousand-pound bombs, probably with delayed fuses to penetrate the building. When the sixth bomb hit, he spoke into his lip mike.

“Let’s move out. On me, now. We’ll take squad arrowhead formation, Second Squad on my left, and we’ll sweep down this street and get into position at any cover we can find about a hundred yards from the target. Go, go, go.”

The men ran to get into formation, then the two inverted V’s moved down the street at a steady jog. Murdock and Nicholson led the point on the right. They saw no targets. As the bombs kept coming, they heard sirens and some trucks careening around. A dozen men ran out of one building, but when they took fire, they darted back inside, leaving two dead or dying on the street.

Murdock ran the platoon past that building and two more, then came to the parade grounds. The far end of it butted against a street next to the command headquarters.

No cover out there at all. One-story buildings on the right. They were 150 yards from the HQ. Murdock and Red stormed the second building in the group, kicked open the door, and blasted inside. It was some kind of support group. Six men and two women held up their hands.

Magic Brown covered them with his sniper rifle and bellowed. “Down on the floor, all of you. Anyone else in this building?”

One man shook his head. Murdock went to the door, and
had DeWitt take over the next one-story building. He met no resistance either.

The bombs kept falling on the three-story building. Murdock had a view of it out one window. He saw smoke coming from the front of the structure, but couldn’t tell if any of it had collapsed yet. Another bomb hit, and he could see part of the corner at the front of the building shake, and then lazily fall away from the rest of the structure.

Murdock had lost track, but figured at least twenty of the big bombs had hit or come close to the structure. Holt touched Murdock’s shoulder.

“L-T, that’s it. Last bomb is down, the six planes are heading for the carrier. Our one Hornet cover is waiting to see if we need any more support.”

“Right. Tell the cover man we’ll stay in touch.” Murdock spoke into his lip mike. “Okay, let’s get outside. We make our move.” His squad formed up outside and found DeWitt’s ready. They ran for the big building with a fifteenman front, every man had an open field of fire ahead of him.

DeWitt spat out a dozen rounds from his MP-5 as four soldiers ran across the street a half block down. Two of the men went down. The others didn’t wait for them.

Holt caught up with Murdock. “We’ve got one cover plane circling so he can see what’s going on down here. I said we might need him. He’s holding his pattern.”

Murdock nodded, and they kept going. Small-arms fire chattered at them from the front. The men slanted to the sides of the street returning a steady blast of lead at the flashes.

DeWitt and two of his men took cover behind a pair of cars parked along the street.

“Throw some WP at them,” DeWitt said. Quinley and Bishop both fed phosphorous rounds into their grenade launchers under their M-4A1’s and fired. The rounds hit just in front of the troops, and sprayed them with the furiously burning white phosphorus. The troops screamed and scattered. The two SEALs lofted two more rounds each, and the firing ahead tapered off.

The SEALs charged forward again. They came even with
the rear of the building, and saw people streaming out of it. Murdock put a six-round burst over their heads, and they stopped moving.

“To the front,” Murdock said into his mike. The SEALs sprinted down the street past cars, and surprised soldiers who had no weapons.

They ran into no more opposition as they rounded the jumble that was the front corner of the building. A giant scar showed where it had torn away from the structure. There was no window wall on the third floor. At the front there was no third floor. What was left had collapsed onto the floor below, and that had fallen into the first floor.

A terrified man with cuts on his arms and legs, and bleeding from a gash on his head, ran out a side door and turned toward the SEALs. He evidently didn’t see them, and ran right into the big arms of Magic Brown.

Magic held him, and talked softly to him until the blazing fright faded from his eyes.

“You were inside?” Brown asked.

The man nodded.

“On the third floor?”

“Second.”

“You know if the general is still inside?”

“Don’t know. Five men near me all killed!”

“Sorry. Where’s the general?”

“Don’t know. Somebody said they saw him inspecting his two tanks. Don’t know.”

Murdock held the people there, and waited for more survivors. Three more rushed out the side door, and DeWitt’s men grabbed them and asked about the general.

All said he hadn’t been in the place when the bombs hit. Two of them agreed that this was the morning he was supposed to inspect his last two tanks.

Murdock had heard it. He got Holt’s radio. “Cover Bird, you see any tanks in this area?”

“SEALtime. Yeah, two about half a klick west of the target. Seems to be quite a bit of action around them.”

“Can you take them out with your twenties, Cover Bird?”

“Doubt it, but I’ve got two missiles. One is a Maverick-65.
It’s a nice little bird that’s made for antitank work. Boss thought there might be some need for an AGM shot around here. Packs a real wallop. Want me to make a run on that tank?”

“That’s a go, Cover Bird.”

“West,” Murdock said in his Motorola mike, and the fifteen men turned and ran down a street again in their offensive formation of two side-by-side arrowheads. No-body tried to stop them.

Three blocks ahead, they came on a string of heavy trucks lined up across the street. Small-arms fire rattled from under, and at each end of, the trucks.

“Take cover,” Murdock bellowed. The trucks and fighting men stood between him and where the general probably was. How in hell did he get around this kind of a manned roadblock?

0842 hours

RX Military Headquarters

Nairobi, Kenya

“Magic, front and center,” Murdock said into his lip mike. His men had flattened against the sides of buildings, dropped behind cars on the sides of the street, and sprawled behind trees and shrubs. They returned fire on the line of trucks.

Magic Brown sprinted past a car and came to the small truck where Murdock had landed.

“Fifty?” Brown asked. Murdock nodded.

The big black man unfastened a drag bag he had lugged all the way from the grove of trees. He brought out the McMillan M-88 .50-caliber sniper rifle, and shoved a magazine of ten incendiary rounds into the receiver. He flipped out the front bipod, and lay down at the edge of the truck with the big barrel and its muzzle brake showing around the rear tire.

Magic grinned as he sighted in through the Leupold Ultra MK4 16-power scope.

He fired. The round slammed into the gas tank showing as a side step on one big truck. The explosion was immediate as the gasoline vapor in the top of the tank ignited and detonated, engulfing the truck, and the one next to it, in a furiously burning gasoline blaze.

Magic worked the bolt, shoving a fresh .50-caliber round into the chamber, and sighted in. He moved down two trucks, and fired again. This time there was no exposed fuel tank. He put the round into the motor compartment. Then he fired three rounds as fast as he could. The last one connected with another fuel tank in the last truck in the line, and it exploded into a huge fireball sending troops scattering.

A driver in one truck at the head of the line tried to drive away. Magic sighted in on the truck in time to slam two rounds into the side of the engine, stopping the rig in place as the flaming gasoline crept down a wet line on the blacktop toward it. Four of the five rigs were burning or out of commission.

No more firing came from the broken, burning line of trucks.

“Let’s move,” Murdock said into his mike, and the SEALs came out of hiding unscathed and ran forward toward the trucks. They went through a twenty-foot-wide gap in the burning wreckage with their MP-5’s and M-4A1’s on full automatic. Once clear of the trucks, they saw no more opposition.

They formed their two inverted-V formations and moved up the street at a steady jog.

That was when they heard the Hornet high overhead. Murdock knew the Hornet would have to be at almost Mach 1 and at a two-to-three thousand-foot altitude to get off a launch of a Maverick-65 AGM missile. It was the best antitank weapon in the cupboard, and could be used for air-to-ground or air-to-ship.

The Maverick had several types of guidance systems to direct the missile on the target. The explosion ahead and to the right blasted well before the aircraft pulled out of the shallow dive.

Murdock changed directions to the right down another open area, and saw no opposition. Past two buildings, things opened up.

Across an open square block, he saw the two tanks. One burned, and a secondary explosion rocked it. The second one had one track off.