Deathrace (16 page)

Kat held her MP-5 in front of her and charged forward. The men raced ahead of her, but she caught them by the time they came to the scout, and all flopped on the ground with weapons pointing outward in a menacing line.

Kat knew there would be no open-fire command. In the SEALs, when the platoon leader began firing, that was the signal for the rest of them to fire.

She heard the stutter of Murdock’s MP-5 and leveled in her own weapon, pushed off the safety to three-round burst, and fired six rounds. The weapon sounded strange. She fixed six more rounds. The earpiece gave three
tsks
and the squad ceased fire.

“Second squad form on our left flank,” the radio speaker ordered. “Open fire when in place.”

Kat watched to her left and saw the second squad run into position, and the weapons chattered. She’d never heard so many guns firing at the same time in her life.

“Cease fire, reform in diamonds,” the radio whispered.

As Kat moved back into formation behind Holt, Murdock fell into step behind her.

“Good work back there, Kat. You moved well, stayed in position. Always remember before you fire to check for friendly forces in front of you. Somebody might get out of line, or get held up, even wounded. Check that field of fire first. It has to be an automatic every time you’re in combat.”

Kat nodded, and he slapped her on the shoulder, and went back to lead the squad on toward the hill.

Twice more in the next mile they had fire missions. On the last one the first squad went into line and second squad formed up on their left flank at a 45-degree angle. Murdock fired, and the whole platoon fired, then stopped at the cease-fire three
tsks
on the earpieces.

“Kat,” the earpiece spoke. “Take a look at the squad on the left, then lay down covering fire twenty yards in front of them. Now.”

Kat lifted her MP-5, pushed it to three-round bursts, and scattered a dozen shots in front of the Second Squad.

“Cease fire, cease fire,” the excited voice came over the radio. “Man down, we’ve got a man down, Second Squad. Get Doc over here fast.”

Kat’s eyes went wide. She pushed the safety on her submachine gun. She had been the only one firing. Had she shot one of the platoon?

Murdock appeared at her elbow. “Kat, on me. Follow me.” The two ran over the desert rocks, and past straggling sage and some dwarf plants to where the second squad had gathered around a man on the ground.

They moved up, and the men gave way. Les Quinley, Torpedoman’s Mate Third Class, lay on the rocky ground on his back. His eyes were closed, his chest a mass of red blood. Doc Ellsworth worked on him quickly, taking his vitals, trying to stop the blood flow from his chest.

Doc turned, and looked at Murdock. “Gonna need some
help. Better have Holt ring up a chopper to get out here from North Island or Pendleton.”

“How bad is he, Doc?” Murdock asked.

“Can’t tell. Must have taken two right in the chest.”

Kat dropped to her knees and stared at Quinley. She picked up the SEAL’s hand and then let it down. It was limp.

“Murdock, I didn’t mean to—”

He cut her off. “Holt, get over here on the double and warm up the SATCOM.”

“Ed, was Quinley too far off line down there on the end?”

“No. He was within ten yards of the next man. Should have been safe.”

“Kat, didn’t I tell you to give support fire,
in front
of Second Squad?”

“Yes, sir, you did. I thought—”

“No excuse!” Murdock thundered. “The only answer to a fuckup like this is to say, no excuse.”

Kat lowered her head to her hands and blinked. She would not cry. There might not be any “crying in baseball” as the movie said. There sure as hell wasn’t any crying in the SEALs.

Somebody snickered.

Kat looked up.

A belly laugh launched from somewhere in the Second Squad.

Kat stared around, wiping just-formed tears from her eyes.

She looked down at Quinley, who now had one eye open.

Murdock’s face was still grim. “Lieutenant, are you absolutely sure that you fired in front of Second Squad?”

She stared back at him. “Absolutely certain, Lieutenant. Fucking absolutely certain.”

“Atta girl,” somebody shouted from the Second Squad.

“Would you hurry this up?” Quinley brayed from his
apparent deathbed. “I’ve got a shithouse-sized fucking rock in the middle of my back.”

Kat punched Quinley in the belly and he rolled over and sat up. The blood pack fell off his cammies and the whole platoon roared with laughter.

“You fuckers, you set me up,” Kat screeched.

Murdock squatted beside her. “We had you, though, didn’t we? Kat, I want you to check your magazine.”

She frowned, swung her MP-5 up, and pushed the mag release. She caught the magazine in her hand, and looked at the rounds still in it.

“You really set me up. They’re blanks. I’ve been firing blanks all afternoon.” She turned toward Murdock, the weapon dropped to her knees. She balled her fists and bellowed in rage.

“You whore-mongering, sonsabitching, mother-fucking, gonad-eating, umbuquatious assholes. You won’t get me again. As I remember, Murdock, sir, you volunteered to load my magazines for me.” Then she grinned. “I’m nominating the rest of you fifteen shit-kickers for a fucking Academy Award for best actors.”

“Welcome to the SEALs, Lieutenant Garnet,” Jaybird said. “It’s good to have you aboard.”

Everyone cheered. Quinley cleaned up the blood pouch Doc had begged from the base infirmary, and they got ready to march.

“Two more miles,” Murdock said. “Let’s get back in our diamond formation and haul ass.”

Going up the last two hundred yards to the top of the small rise, they laid down assault fire, then secured the peak and spread out in a protective formation on the reverse slope. Twice they fired down the slope. Kat had stowed magazines of blanks, borrowed hot rounds from some of the other MP-5 shooters, and joined in the exercise, glad to have live rounds again.

DeWitt remembered that Kat hadn’t fired any of the
40mm grenades from the Colt M-4A1. Murdock approved, and she fired six HE rounds and then two WP. The white phosphorous started a small fire that Jaybird and four men attacked with entrenching tools, and had out before it had burned ten feet. The desert land offered little fuel, but at times annual grass could be a problem.

Murdock checked his watch: 1725. He called the troops together. “Anybody want to camp out tonight, and have a twenty-mile hike tomorrow morning?”

He heard a few boos.

“Good. It’s now 1725. We’re five klicks from the bus. If we get back there by 1800, we turn turtle, and drive back to Coronado. That’s six minutes to the mile. Kat will lead out; she knows this pace. Let’s do it.”

They headed downhill. A six-minutes-to-the-mile pace is just a little slower than the professional marathoners go. With full combat gear it was a struggle and a strain. Kat held it for two miles, then checked the troops. They were strung out for a quarter of a mile.

Murdock called a halt while the stragglers caught up. When all were assembled, he relented.

“Sorry some of you ladies couldn’t keep up with our newest recruit SEAL. I see more hikes coming up. Okay, you’ve had a good drill, we’ll walk the rest of the way, and still have that bus ride. Now, are we happy?”

“We’re happy, sir!” the SEALs bellowed in unison.

“I asked if we’re happy?”

This time the bellow came twice as loud followed by raucous cheers and shouts.

Murdock gave them the old Infantry signal of forward with his hand high over his head and then brought down to the front.

The Navy bus pulled up in front of the SEAL quarterdeck just after 2100.

Murdock motioned to Kat as she stepped off the bus. “Lieutenant, there are some matters we need to discuss.
Dinner tonight at the officers club at the Amphib Base. I’ll meet you there in thirty minutes.”

“Cammies? That’s all I have.”

“I think I can get you past the cop at the door.”

An hour later they sat at a back table next to the wall and worked on medium-rare steaks. Murdock took the lead before dessert came.

“Kat, I owe you an explanation.” He held up his hand when she started to protest. She relaxed.

“Our little stunt today is standard for most of the new men we get in our platoon. A kind of wringing out and checking out. There’s one thing we can’t know when we train a man. How is he going to react in actual combat when the bad guys are shooting back trying to kill his ass dead.

“It’s the one intangible that every combat commander worries over until all of his men are blooded. This problem was magnified about tenfold when you were assigned here. You’re a civilian, you had never fired a gun before, and you were a woman.”

“So?” She watched him with a faint smile.

“So far you’ve stood up to our training and physical regimen better than I expected. Far better, in fact. You didn’t panic when you thought you might have killed one of your platoon. You took the guff and came up smiling. All A-plus in my book.”

“So far, so good, Lieutenant. You didn’t buy me dinner—you did say you were buying; I don’t have any money with me.”

He nodded.

“Good. We’re not here to take a look at my report card. What else is in your craw?”

“Don Stroh, but he’s another problem. I don’t know if you researched us before you arrived?”

“I did. The U.S. Navy SEALs were established by presidential order in 1962 by John Kennedy. SEAL stands
for SEa, Air, and Land. Most say that the SEAL teams are the foremost elite special operations forces in the world today. SEAL teams One and Two served in Vietnam. At that time they were fourteen-man platoons.

“By 1990 there were seven SEAL teams to meet the expanding use of special operations and for covert work. They put teams One, Three, Five, and Seven here in Coronado at the Naval Special Warfare Group One. The rest of them, Teams Two, Four, and Eight, were headquartered at Little Creek, Virginia, in the command of the NAVSPECWARGRU-Two. The teams here were to be used in the Pacific area; the east coast teams would handle jobs in the Atlantic and Mediterranean areas.”

Murdock grinned as she clicked off the history of his outfit. “You have done some homework.”

“SEALs have the toughest, roughest, baddest training of any elite forces in the world, including the British SAS. It lasts six months and officers go through the same training as the other Bud guys, with one added duty. Officers must score at least ten percent higher on all tests than the enlisted men do.

“This creates a strange and magnificent bonding between SEAL officers and men. SEALs know their officers have done the BUDs course—lifted the log, manned the IBS, run the obstacle course—and done it in the ocean on a ten-mile swim combat ready.

“It’s a spirit and motivation that few units have. These men depend on each other on every mission for their very lives. I’ve seen more dedication and devotion and dependent-bonding here in the past week than ever before in my life.”

She stopped and took a bite of the desert. She wasn’t sure what it was, or how it tasted. She watched his eyes. They seemed to light up for a minute, then a grin spread over his handsome face and she smiled. “Coach, how did I do?”

“Glad we could have this little talk.”

They both burst out laughing. Neither of them said a word for a while. They concentrated on the desert. When it was gone and the final sips of wine vanished from their glasses, he picked up her hand and held it on the table.

“Katherine, you did fine, to answer your question. One thing I noticed about you the first day you reported. We told you something once and you learned it and remembered it. We never had to repeat anything to you. It’s an exceptional ability. Now for the big question of the day: Has DeWitt’s lady invited you over for dinner yet?”

“No. Ed mentioned it once, but said the time wasn’t quite right yet.”

“I’ll see if I can get that worked out tomorrow. We got word today from Don Stroh that our men, Guns Franklin and Joe Douglas, are now somewhere near the nuclear facility north of the town of Chah Bahar in Iran. If they find that place in a rush, we won’t have our month of training. I’m telling Don that as of tomorrow, we’re combat ready. We can fly out anytime our boys find the target.”

“We’ll probably drop in by parachute?”

“Fifty miles inland is a long walk. We’ll probably go in my air for a low-level drop. Static line on the chute from a thousand to twelve hundred feet off the deck. Quick down and ready to fight.”

“Can we practice it once or twice here?”

He looked at her for several beats, then slowly shook his head. “Negative. There’s a certain risk factor such as a broken arm or leg, maybe a bad landing and a broken back. We can take the risk on the actual hot drop. No way I’m risking you on a low-level training jump.”

She gave a quick sigh, and nodded. “Good. I wasn’t looking forward to it. I’ve got bruises over half my body now from those other parachute jumps. Those straps really jerk you around when the chute opens.”

“True. Lieutenant, I think I better get you to your quarters. We have an oh-seven-thirty call in the morning.”

At her door, she turned to face him. She wasn’t sure what he would do. He was single, she knew that. Of all the men in the platoon, she had guessed he might be the only one who would try to come on to her.

He touched her shoulder. “Hey, Kat, have good dreams. See you in the morning.” He turned, and walked away. Kat smiled faintly, and felt just a little rejected.

“What the hell, Kat,” she whispered to herself. “You’re a grown-up girl, you could have reached out and kissed him first.” Then she shook her head. He was right. They had a mission. No entanglements, no baggage. She was just one of the guys. She had to be, at least until this mission was over, and they were back in the U.S.A. Then, who knows? She grinned as she unlocked her door and went inside.

17

Joe Douglas dug the sleep out of his eyes with a pair of HE fraggers and stared at the new day.