Direct Action (20 page)

“Sweeping toward us,” said Murdock. “To flush us into the cordon.”

“Yup,” Jaybird agreed. “From Baalbek to the checkpoint we busted, the Mercedes, and then on to the smugglers. Pretty soon to Kos’s body. The sons of bitches are just connecting the dots.”

1215 hours

North central Lebanon

From his vantage point, Murdock considered the situation. He thought the Syrian sweep was a serious development but not a catastrophic one. The advance on line was the most difficult military formation to control. Anyone who had tried it with only a few troops over a short distance knew how hard it was. To do it with more than a thousand troops over miles of woods and broken ground was well-nigh impossible without breaks in the line, units getting ahead of or behind each other, and frequent stops to sort things out. Seven men ought to be able to either evade or slip through that force. It was something SEALs specialized in.

The main problem, as Murdock saw it, was bringing helicopters into the midst of such a concentration of enemy, even at night. It was going to be tricky. And, like all ground commanders in the age of the helicopter, he wasn’t quite sure how much information to give out. If you told the truth about how bad it was, they might not come and get you. If you didn’t, they might come in using the wrong routes or tactics and get shot down, also putting you in the lurch. He wasn’t worried
about the 160th. It was the CIA’s timidity that had gotten them into the present situation, and Murdock didn’t intend to test their resolve any more than he had to.

He would have loved to consult with Razor Roselli just then, but he had to assume that the Syrian electronic warfare units had also come out to the field that Saturday. With modern equipment, even a short transmission from an MX-300 was way too easy to get a fix on.

The essence of war was the right place and the right time, and Murdock intended to choose well. He estimated that the Syrian sweep line would reach the patrol base in an hour and a half, two hours at the outside.

“As nice as it is up here,” he said to Jaybird, “I think we’d better get back to the platoon.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hey, Jaybird?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Stop calling me sir, will you? After all this time it just makes me think you’re fucking with me.”

Jaybird’s grin was enormous. “Yes, sir.”

Murdock sighed.

They eased their way down the hill and back to the patrol base. And after an exchange of birdcalls, the backup signal to a radio message, they got into the patrol base without being shot by their fellow SEALs. It had happened.

“I love it how the breaks just keep getting better and better,” said Razor Roselli after Murdock gave him the news.

All the SEALs were in a tight circle. Shoulder-to-shoulder, face-to-face.

“Comments?” Murdock requested.

“Make some hides, let them walk right past us?” Higgins suggested.

“We don’t have time to dig good ones,” said Doc. “These woods are so open, if a Syrian took a wrong step and fell into just one hide, we’d all be screwed.”

“What the Syrians are counting on,” Magic Brown weighed in, “is that we’ve got the wide-open valley and fields to our east, and another thousand feet of mountains that are just bare rocks to our west. These woods aren’t more than three miles across at the widest point. Look how long we had to patrol to find enough cover to cross the damn roads. We’re going to have a hell of a time maneuvering around to find a gap in their lines.”

“I was watching how they’re doing the sweep,” said Jaybird. “Every time they came to a road everyone would automatically stop. That way whoever fell behind got a chance to catch up. Then, when they were all on the road, all covered and aligned, they’d start up again. It worked pretty good, ’cause there’s dirt roads cutting across these woods every couple of miles. So if we’re going to make a move, it has to be just before they reach a road and get themselves unfucked. That’s when they’re the most disorganized and vulnerable.” He looked around the circle to see what everyone was thinking.

“Keep going,” Murdock urged. “You’re on a roll.”

“Okay,” Jaybird said, feeding off the enthusiasm. “What we’ve got to do is think a couple of moves ahead of them, like Magic does in chess.”

Imagining he was hearing his game slandered, Razor’s eyes narrowed.

“Now,” said Jaybird, “What I was thinking is this.…”

Listening, Murdock felt once again that any officer who thought he had all the answers was an asshole.

When Jaybird finished, Razor Roselli was the first to speak. “You know something, Turdbird? I think you’re starting to work your way off my shit list.”

1305 hours

North central Lebanon

The SEALs were spread out among the trees, and not coincidentally had located themselves on the far western portion of the woods. Except for the quarter-mile-long portion they were in, a ridgeline stretched across that entire length of woods and continued down into the valley.

Out ahead of them they could hear the shouting of frustrated Syrian sergeants and platoon commanders trying to keep their troops together. Murdock took some comfort from the fact that the Syrians were having a long day too, and had probably reached the point where their heads were concentrated on maintaining the formation, not preparing to engage the enemy. And the SEALs were all dressed in Syrian uniforms, which was about the only bit of gratitude he could work up for the CIA just then.

But the sounds kept coming on, and Murdock began to get worried. Something should have happened by now.

A few minutes passed and Murdock could now hear the Syrians crashing through the brush. If they got any closer he was going to have to make a tough call. If he pulled back,
Jaybird’s plan was blown. But if he stayed there and nothing happened they were committed to a firefight.

Like one of those “find all the animals in the barnyard” puzzles, Murdock could make out the green camouflaged faces of his SEALs among the trees. They were all looking over to him for a signal. He could have all the discussions he wanted, but in the end he would always be the one in charge. And the SEALs would do exactly what he decided, whether it got them killed or not. In training that ultimate responsibility was a lot of fun. Now it felt like being slowly crushed by a large rock.

He decided to throw the dice and stay put. But when he was able to pick out the uniforms of the Syrian troops moving toward him through the trees, he knew he’d chosen wrong, and his stomach flipped over. Then he heard the explosions in the distance, and was reprieved.

1314 hours

North central Lebanon

A mile to the east of the SEALs, the line of Syrian commandos looked up at the ridge they would soon have to climb and shook their heads. Although called commandos, these were not special forces like the SEALs or Green Berets. In the October 1973 War with Israel, the performance of Syria’s conscript infantry had been disappointing. So the Syrian Army decided to form independent commando battalions to which they assigned their best and most reliable soldiers. The commando name was for morale and esprit; the units performed conventional infantry missions. The decision paid off. In the 1982 War in Lebanon, the Syrian commandos performed extremely well. Although present on the battlefield only in small numbers, they fought effective delaying actions, retreating only when ordered—a minor miracle for Arab armies up until that time. The commandos also sprang effective ambushes on the Israeli armor as it tried to negotiate the narrow Lebanese roads and rocky hills.

Now their sergeant shouted at them, and the commandos
started up the ridge. They didn’t notice the monofilament fishing line snaking across their path. One of the Syrians snagged the line and tripped two hand grenades rigged with instantaneous fuses—the sort of toys SEALs carried in their pockets. The grenades blew and threw up a cloud of black smoke. Three commandos went down screaming.

Almost instantaneously, right in front of them there was a series of fast popping explosions, like the concentrated fire of a number of automatic weapons.

The Syrian soldiers hit the dirt and opened fire on the ridge. Nearby units, thinking that the enemy had been found atop the ridge, opened up also. Whenever a Syrian stopped to change magazines he still heard firing going on, so he continued shooting. It was a very common phenomenon and linked to the necessity of gaining fire superiority. No one wanted to slacken their fire and let the enemy gain an advantage. It happened more often than not in the confusion of battle. In the past even SEALs hadn’t been immune to it.

What the Syrians had actually heard after the initial grenade explosions were 7.62mm M43 Kalasknikov bullets looped around a long piece of explosive detonating cord that had been taped to the grenades.

Certain that they had finally discovered the enemy, all the Syrian units along the line followed their orders. They began to maneuver to surround the enemy force and pin it down. It was the first step toward its destruction. Two more grenade booby traps were hit, convincing the Syrians that they were on the right track.

1316 hours

North central Lebanon

Once the firing started up, the Syrian soldiers in front of Murdock stopped dead in their tracks. Murdock visualized the radio conversation that had to be taking place.

Then orders were screamed. The Syrians faced about. Where
they had been sweeping northeast now they headed southeast, in the direction of the firing.

Murdock looked around and saw SEALs grinning at him. He waited, giving the Syrians time to get out of the way. A few hand signals, and Jaybird was back on point with the others formed up behind him.

The SEALs patrolled southwest, right through where the Syrian sweep line had originally been. A few hundred meters more and they were behind the sweep line, in the area the Syrians had already cleared.

Murdock had the completion of a perfect fantasy in mind. The Syrians would take their time, pound the living crap out of the ridge with mortars or artillery, and then assault. When they found nothing, they would eventually get sorted out and decide that the booby traps had only been intended to delay them. Angered by their losses, they would get back on line and renew their sweep with greater vigor, totally convinced that the enemy was up ahead. Which would be perfect, now that the SEALs were safely behind them.

Murdock made a mental note to name his first child Jaybird.

1330 hours

North central Lebanon

The SEALs had made it out of the noose, but the main roads were still covered by the Syrians, and the section of woods they were now forced into was alarmingly small.

Now Murdock had to decide whether to sit tight or keep moving. There seemed to be no contest. There wasn’t any assurance that the Syrians had finished moving around the area. If the SEALs kept moving there was always the risk of bumping into some random unit. Better to lay low and keep their heads down until dark.

But first they had to find the right place. The SEALs patrolled excruciatingly slowly, making no noise. They didn’t follow a straight route, zigzagging back and forth instead to make it more difficult for anyone trying to trail them.

Jaybird found a spot that looked good, and Murdock was unwilling to keep patrolling in order to find something better. Unlike the previous patrol base, this one was on higher, more defensible ground: the side of a high but gently sloping ridge, covered with boulders, brush, tall grass, and scattered scrawny saplings clinging desperately to the rocky soil.

The SEALs arranged themselves across the nose of the ridge, settling in among the boulders with good 360-degree security.

After twenty minutes of peace and quiet, a small group of men passed by at a distance of several hundred yards. They were armed but scruffy, wearing combinations of military uniforms and civilian clothing. Murdock thought they had to be Hezbollah.

Another half hour passed. Murdock had no intention of allowing himself to fall asleep again. He chose the most uncomfortable position he could find.

A single shot was heard, not far away. Murdock was so keyed up that it made him jump slightly. It wasn’t a rifle shot, though. It sounded like a shotgun. Then there was another shot, closer. It was definitely a shotgun. Murdock couldn’t figure it out, and he didn’t like it when that happened.

Fifteen minutes later he had his answer. Two Lebanese civilians appeared, carrying shotguns and accompanied by a dog. Murdock couldn’t believe it. Half the Syrian Army in Lebanon was pounding the hills on a major manhunt, and these dumb bastards were out hunting. He’d heard amazing stories about recklessly stupid and fatalistic Lebanese behavior during the civil war, but this was ridiculous. Then again, if you lived in a country where armed soldiers regularly roamed the hills, maybe that wasn’t reason enough to make you postpone your Saturday outing.

Go away, Murdock ordered them in his head, go the fuck away. The dog flushed a bird at the base of the ridge. Both hunters fired, and missed, but their shotgun pellets rained in among the SEALs’ position. Murdock was glad that shotgun pellets didn’t travel far before losing velocity. Considering that it was Lebanon, he supposed he ought to be thankful that the two yokels weren’t out hunting with machine guns.

The dog picked up a scent and bounded up the ridge. Murdock didn’t know whether it was scenting an animal, the
mass of Syrians who had already passed through, or the SEALs.

The dog kept coming, and Murdock knew the animal was on their trail. They had made the usual question mark maneuver before heading into the rocks, so the dog went almost all the way around the ridge before heading down and then coming back toward them.

Then the dog ran into the line of CS crystals Razor Roselli had thoughtfully sprinkled down.

The dog didn’t take a few tentative sniffs, then call it a day and head for home. No, it took a deep drag of CS and went absolutely berserk.