Hostile Fire (37 page)

They worked down the alley in the bright sunshine, moving from what cover there was to the next. They saw no Mexican lawmen in back of the house. They heard nothing from the front.

“Give them five,” Murdock said. The fence behind the place was concrete block, six feet high with a three-foot-wide gate in the center. Block walls showed on both sides of the house as well.

Four minutes passed and Lam signaled to Murdock they should go through the gate.

Before Murdock could signal back, gunfire exploded at the front of the house. He heard what could have been a door blasting open, then more gunfire. Two men ran out the back door. Lam ran to the gate in the fence, pushed his Bull Pup around the opening, and cut down one of the runners with a three-round burst. The other man stopped, dropped his weapon, and held up his hands. A third man ran out the
door screaming. He had blood running down his face. He carried an RPG launcher without a round in the end. He looked at the man with his hands up and swore at him, then went for the gate. Murdock jolted him backwards with six rounds from his 5.56 Bull Pup.

The terrorist in the backyard stood there like a pole, his hands high over his head, his face a mask of anger and fear.

Shooting inside the house quieted. A man edged out the door and looked at the two bodies on the ground, then at the man with his hands up. The
Federale
shot him four times in the back, screaming at him. Then he ran back in the house. Murdock and Lam stood behind the fence and waited.

It was five minutes before one of the men Murdock had seen at the airport came out the door.

“SEALs, you there?” the man called in English.

“Right,” Murdock said. “Is that house clear?”

“Clear and dead,” the
Federale
answered. “Take your men back to the bus.”

“Right,” Murdock said. He and Lam jogged back to where they’d left most of the platoon and went with them back to where the bus still smoldered and smoked. Two police cars were parked nearby. An ambulance pulled away quickly, and another one rolled in and down to the target house.

Mahanani sat on the grass scowling.

“Wouldn’t let me go with them,” he said. “They didn’t even speak English.”

“They took Prescott, Fernandez, and Perez, the
Federale?
”

“Yeah. Hey, Cap, can you wrap this a little tighter? I’m no fucking good with my left hand.”

Murdock saw the burn then. Half Mahanani’s right sleeve had been charred and the arm under it wrapped with a roller bandage. Murdock straightened out the bandage and taped it in place.

“You could have been on that ambulance, too.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t let them see my burn. Just a scratch. Didn’t even burn to the bone.”

“Did Claymore ever show up?”

“No. Sorry, Cap. I think we lost him. He must have been right over the blast, or close to it. Then that damn gasoline
went up and we had to scramble. I was only halfway back in the bus and it was scorching even there. Lucky we didn’t lose half the platoon.”

One of the Mexican
Federales
walked up. “Where can I find Murdock?”

“That’s me. Did you get your men?”

“I’m Castro. We got most of them. They knew we were coming but couldn’t all get out in time. The RPGs were meant to give them time. Good thing our men were in position. But two did escape. We’re not sure if they were the leaders or not, but we suspect they were. We’re interrogating one of the survivors now. Thanks for stopping those two trying to get away out the back.”

“About the one who had given up…” Murdock started.

Castro’s face turned dark and he scowled. “You have your way, we have ours. We already had a prisoner. We didn’t need that one.”

“Expendable?”

“Yes, good word.” He paused and a smile nearly broke through his stern face. “I’ll have two vans here in a half hour to take you back to the border. We thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome.”

The Mexican man saluted smartly, did a military about face, and walked toward the undamaged Buick.

J.G. Gardner came up, looking worried and angry. “If these Mexicans knew that the bad guys were on to us, why didn’t they stop the rigs farther down the street? We can’t find Claymore anywhere. He has to be in that burned up bus. How do we go about getting his body? We have to send him home. We aren’t about to start leaving men on foreign soil.”

“We’ll have Senior Chief Neal take the men back to Coronado,” Murdock said. “He can phone from the border for a pickup by a navy bus. You and I will stay here until we can find out what is left of Claymore and get a body bag and take him home.”

Gardner nodded, his face relaxed a little, and his clenched fists opened and fell to his sides. “Yes, sir. I like that. I’m going back down there. Most of the fire is out. Still no firemen on scene. Where the hell are they?”

Five minutes later two large vans pulled up and the
SEALs loaded into them. Senior Chief Neal told Murdock he would get the men back to their base.

Murdock went down to the lawn near where the bus still lay on its side. He touched the metal top of the rig, but it was still too hot to crawl up so he could see through the broken-out windows. He sat down beside J.G. Gardner.

“First man you’ve lost. I know it’s hard. That’s the dark side of this little international game of cops and robbers that we play. That’s why most men can’t do this duty for long.”

“But Claymore hasn’t been with the platoon for long.”

“That’s what makes it all the more tragic.” Murdock frowned as he saw two men half a block down step out from behind a concrete-block wall at the side of a house. He saw a glint of sunshine off metal.

“Terrs down there about forty yards,” he barked. “Dive and roll away from me. Our job here isn’t done after all.”

Two shots came, drilling into the soft grass where the SEALs had been sitting. The two SEALs scrambled forward into the protection of the still-hot bus.

“I’ve got the front,” Murdock said. “You take the back. Let’s go down and meet those two killers and see what we can do with them.”

The SEALs moved to the ends of the bus, motioned to each other, then both stormed around the bus, zigzagging to the next cover, a car at the curb twenty yards away on the other side of the street.

Murdock heard a shot and felt a bullet slam over his head as he kept running for cover.

Murdock felt a bullet clip his pants leg and tear on through; then he dove behind a gray sedan parked at the curb. When he peered around, he saw that the two gunmen had vanished. J.G. Gardner had slid behind the car just after Murdock did.

“Gone?” he asked.

“Down that alley they fired from. Cover me with a couple of shots while I get over to that block wall by the alley. Now.”

Murdock surged around the end of the car and Gardner sent two three-round bursts of hot lead into the alley next to the block wall. Murdock made it safely the twenty yards to the alley mouth and looked around the block wall. He saw no one. He sent a three-round burst down the alley and waved at Gardner to join him.

On his next look down the alley, Murdock saw a man dive behind a large trash bin. The man hadn’t come out. He kept watch. Another man farther down the alley jolted out from a gate in a wall, ran down to another block wall, and darted into an opening. Murdock didn’t have time to aim and fire. He sent two more rounds into the trash container where one man hid.

Gardner nudged his elbow.

“We got one behind that trash bin down about forty feet. He can’t get out and there’s a ten-foot wall behind it,” Murdock said, briefing Gardner. “You go down to that car parked in the alley about thirty feet down. I’ll cover you. See if you can get an angle on the guy behind the bin.”

Gardner nodded, surged around Murdock, and sprinted for the parked car. Murdock fired three spaced shots at the trash bin, and the man there didn’t shoot back. Gardner slid in behind the car without taking any rounds. He stared through
the windows of the car, then turned to Murdock and shook his head.

Murdock fired twice more on single shot—one under the trash container near the wheels, the second just past the front where the round slammed into the block wall. There was no reaction from the man behind the container.

Gardner held up a hand grenade, but Murdock shook his head. Too many civilians around. The hand grenade would cause too much noise and damage. He figured the gunman wouldn’t give up. He must know what the
Federales
did with men who tried to surrender.

“Cover me,” Murdock shouted. Gardner fired single shots behind the trash bin every three seconds. Murdock dashed from his position to the front of the trash container. He put his head out and jerked it back quickly. Two shots thundered from behind the bin.

Murdock pushed the Bull Pup’s muzzle around the side of the container and triggered off three three-round bursts. He waited a moment, then heard a scream. He looked around and jerked back. No shot. He looked again. The terr sat against the back block wall of the indent for the trash bin. He held his stomach with both hands. Slowly his head fell forward, and then he tipped to the side and sprawled in the dirt and garbage of the trash area.

Murdock and Gardner looked down the alley. There was no sign of the other man.

“We got one of the two. Let’s go back and see how that fire is doing.”

When they got back to the bus, a fire truck had arrived and the men had the fire out and the metal cooled down with the cold water. The
Federale
officer who had talked to them before, Castro, came up and watched a moment. He came over to Murdock.

“You have a casualty in the bus?”

“We believe so. One of our men is missing.”

“I’ll have the firemen look for him.” The federal man went to a fire lieutenant and talked. Then two firemen went down through a broken-out window. Murdock and Gardner waited.

It was almost five minutes later before a head appeared
in the broken-out window. The fireman talked to his officer, who talked to the federal cop. He went to Murdock.

“They have found a badly burned body inside. It must be your man. We’ll get the bus tipped back on its rims and bring out his remains. Our nation appreciates the sacrifice your team has made here today. You’ll receive an official commendation.”

“Nothing public,” Murdock said. “We’re always undercover. We were never here. You understand.”

It was a half hour before a tow truck arrived with a winch that hooked on and tipped the bus back on its axles. All the tires had burned off. An ambulance had been waiting, and now the paramedics went into the bus with a body bag and a stretcher. Murdock tried to get inside, but the firemen kept him out.

Another ten minutes passed before the medics brought out the heavy black body bag on a stretcher. They unzipped the end of the bag. Murdock and Gardner both looked at the face of the man inside. There was enough of it left for them to recognize and identify Wade Claymore.

The
Federale
put his radio away and motioned to Murdock. “You both can go with the ambulance to the border. I’ve radioed ahead and a U.S. ambulance will meet you at the border on this side and transfer the remains. We thank you for your assistance.”

They stepped into the back of the ambulance and stared at the black body bag.

“I’ll write the letter,” Gardner said. “He was a good man and I hate to lose him.”

At the border a South Bay Ambulance Company rig waited for them at the turnaround on the Mexican side. The two paramedics were surprised to see the body bag.

“Get us to Balboa Naval Hospital’s emergency entrance,” Murdock said. “No siren. As you can see there is no rush.”

At the hospital it took Murdock ten minutes to get Claymore into the system and his body sent to the morgue. Then he contacted the Shore Patrol at the hospital and told them he needed transportation to Coronado.

“We can’t do that, sir,” a phone voice said.

“Put on your commanding officer,” Murdock said.

Two minutes later a navy sedan pulled up at the emergency entrance and the two SEALs climbed in. The driver looked in surprise at the weapons and the cammies.

“Some maneuvers or an exercise, sirs?” the driver asked.

“No, sailor, it was the real thing. Now get us to NAVSPECWARGRUP-ONE just south of Coronado, on the strand.”

“Yes, sir.”