Seawolf Mask of Command (63 page)

Hoover responded with one quick motion, slicing through the ankle strap. Immediately, the green LED on the device began flashing red and it started emitting a low pitched whine.

“Fuck!” Hamilton swore. “Shut that fucking thing up, Doc!”

Grogan rammed his boot into the device, but it kept chirping. “Get moving!” he barked to Hoover. “Get the package back to the surf.” He rammed his boot into the device twice more, finally silencing it.

Meanwhile, Hoover and Kristen helped Choi up. He was now completely docile and cooperative, but was also unable to walk. They placed him between them, his arms across their shoulders and began leading him over the rocks back toward the sea.

“What did you give him?” she asked as they began half carrying, half dragging Choi.

“Just something to relax him,” Hoover answered anxiously.

“Maybe you could give me a shot of that?” Kristen asked, only half joking. She’d never been in combat before, so she had nothing to base her current analysis on, but she had the feeling the situation was rapidly spiraling out of control.

“Really, Ell-Tee?” he asked. “Humor? Right now?”

“Humor or tears,” she told him. “Take your pick.”

Kristen was moving as fast as she could, but the various size and shapes of the boulders made for treacherous footing. The doctor was not a big man, barely five-two and slender, but he seemed to weigh a ton now as she scrambled over the rocks. Off to her left, she saw a flash of light and glanced to see headlights approaching back down the road and moving quickly.

“They’re coming,” she offered, her fear clearly audible in her voice.

“No shit, Buckwheat,” Hoover answered as they struggled to move over the rocks with their new burden.

“Move, move!” Grogan barked from behind them.

Kristen and Hoover had moved maybe another ten meters when a terribly loud siren began to wail from the direction of the nearby rocket base. Hoover made no indication that he heard the siren, but Kristen glanced back behind her. The truck they’d seen earlier was racing back down the road to where the SEALs had snatched Choi.

Kristen and Hoover were moving as fast as their feet would carry them across the jagged ground, but whereas a few minutes ago she’d hardly noticed her forty-five pounds of gear, now she felt like she was running with a refrigerator on her back, and her heart rate had skyrocketed with the realization they were running for their lives. Every step became more arduous than the last, and the distant shoreline seemed to be moving away from them with each note from the wailing siren.

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” she gasped. Kristen was certain she sounded like a frightened child, but didn’t care what Hoover thought of her at the moment. Her entire world had been reduced to a couple hundred yards of rocky beach. Nothing else mattered.

“Just keep moving, Ell-Tee,” Hoover encouraged her. “We’re almost there.”

Kristen slipped on a rock, twisting her ankle, but recovered. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw the headlights of a truck that had stopped moving at the exact spot where they’d snatched Choi a few minutes earlier. Then she heard the clear sound of North Korean men shouting.

“Move, move, move!” Grogan, who was a few paces behind, urged her and Hoover.

Kristen took another few paces, scrambling crab-like over a couple of larger rocks, still holding onto Choi. Then she heard what sounded like a starter pistol firing somewhere behind her. Immediately, this was followed by a whistling sound that lasted for several seconds, then a loud “pop” as a flare burst overhead. Instantly, Kristen and the others were bathed in light as they struggled to reach the shore.

Oh, shit! Oh, Shit! Oh, shit!”

“Light’em up!” Grogan shouted to Hamilton.

Kristen couldn’t see either of them since they were behind her and covering the withdrawal to the water, but she heard the roar of the machine gun not far behind as Hamilton opened fire. She glanced back and saw Hamilton’s silhouette illuminated by a three-foot tongue of flame erupting from the barrel of the machine gun. The SEAL was firing from an elevated position on a rock and covering the team as Grogan took up his own firing position.

“What do we do now?” she shouted to Hoover, forcing her protesting legs to run faster.

“Keep moving, dammit,” Hoover responded with stress clear in his own voice.

Behind her she heard Grogan shouting some command she didn’t clearly understand, but the machine gun fire abruptly stopped. “Shouldn’t we help them?” she asked.

“No, dammit!” Hoover cursed again. “Just keep moving.”

Kristen heard other weapons firing, and it took her a moment to realize these new sounds were coming from North Koreans firing at them. She then became conscious of a cracking sound above her head. She glanced up but saw nothing. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?!”

“That popping noise?” she asked. “What is it?”

“They’re bullets, dammit!” Hoover swore anxiously. “Now shut up and run, will you?!”

Bullets?

Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit!

Behind her she heard a new sound. It was another popping sound except louder and deeper. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Grogan holding his rifle with a M203 grenade launcher under it. He’d fired a grenade from the launcher, and she saw it detonate on the road by the truck. The explosion illuminated at least ten North Koreans. As if this wasn’t bad enough, she saw more trucks approaching.

Hamilton, the machine gun smoking in his hands, bounded past them. He moved with catlike agility over the boulders until he reached a spot about ten yards ahead of them. He then stopped, turned, and took up a firing position. The second he was in position with the machine gun in his meaty shoulder, he opened fire. Kristen saw Hamilton’s face illuminated by the muzzle flash of the machine gun. His eyes looked to be the size of dinner plates, and his face was almost demonic as he unleashed a hailstorm of lead at the Koreans.

Kristen could hear the sound of men screaming in pain far behind her as they were hit. She could almost feel the heavy bullets from Hamilton’s machine gun roaring by her barely ten feet away as the SEAL kept the North Koreans’ heads down.

Stabbing pain shot up her leg as she lost her footing in the poorly fitting boots and rolled her ankle on a slippery rock. But she didn’t stop, a combination of fear and adrenaline driving her as a long streak of green tracer bullets shot overhead and sped far off into the night sky. She’d forgotten about the freezing temperature and her discomfort. Now all that mattered was reaching the water.

The ocean had become synonymous with safety in her mind.

Grogan bolted past her, leaping from rock to rock like a gazelle fleeing a panther. He found a spot about thirty yards beyond where Hamilton was firing and turned back toward the Koreans who were still firing wildly at them. Grogan pumped his left arm in the air, encouraging them to move faster. “Come on, Doc! Shake your ass!” He opened the barrel of the grenade launcher and slipped another 40mm high-explosive grenade into the breech then slammed it shut. He then pumped his fist into the air several more times. “Move, move,” he barked at them, raised his weapon and fired another grenade.

Kristen nearly fell again as she slipped on an ice-covered rock. She grimaced, lost her footing, but kept going, briefly wondering if she’d broken the ankle. She heard the grenade explode somewhere behind her. At the same time she saw Grogan already reloading, ejecting the stubby shell casing and ramming another one into the breech of the grenade launcher.

The sound of firing coming from the initial truck load of Koreans had diminished to a handful of poorly aimed, sporadic shots.

“All the way to the surf!” Grogan ordered them as they ran past him. “Trip, displace!”

Kristen was now struck by the silence surrounding them as the firing stopped. She could still hear the distant siren but it wasn’t as loud now. Especially when compared to the recent firing that had erupted all around her. For a moment she allowed herself to believe the worst was behind them. She’d come through it and nothing could be worse than the harrowing run across the boulders with the North Koreans shooting at her.

You’ve made it. You just have to reach the water.

There was a terrific explosion behind her on the road as a new flare popped open above them, once more casting all of them in a revealing—and unwanted—brilliant light. Kristen resisted the urge to take cover among the rocks, somehow knowing that to stop meant certain death.

Then, as if by magic, she saw the foam of the breakers directly ahead of her, not ten yards away. The waves were crashing against the rocks. Kristen felt a great sense of relief come over her. They’d reached the shore, and there was no more shooting.

You’re okay, you made it. Everything’s okay.

Alvarez was kneeling on a rock, his own weapon up and at the ready and waving to her and Hoover directing them to his position. “What the hell happened?” he asked as they reached him.

“Some sort of alarm was on the doctor,” Hoover explained. They set Choi down in the horseshoe-shaped break in the shoreline where they had stashed their gear. The opening of the horseshoe faced the sea and would provide some cover from incoming fire as they donned their gear. Kristen settled down into the horseshoe, fighting the feeling of elation of having made it. Her side felt like it was on fire from the exertion of running with all of her gear plus Choi’s dead weight. But the worst was behind them, she was sure of it.

She glanced back toward the road and saw the truck burning ferociously. But, any euphoria she’d felt about reaching the water ended as she saw at least four trucks on the road with men pouring out of them. She then saw Grogan and Hamilton scrambling toward them, their weapons in hand.

“Your ruck!” Hoover said to her and began clawing her waterproof rucksack off her back. She stripped it off, not certain what she should be doing. But Hoover knew. “Strip him!” he said referring to Choi.

“What?” she asked.

“Cut his coat off. It’s too big to slip the drysuit over,” Hoover told her as he opened her rucksack and pulled out the drysuit for Choi.

Kristen pulled her dive knife and began to carefully cut off the coat. Fearful of accidentally cutting Choi, she forced her hands to stop shaking and take her time. Meanwhile, Hamilton and Grogan leapt into the horseshoe shaped depression with them. Grogan saw Kristen carefully cutting off the coat. Exasperated with her slow movements, he snatched the knife out of her hand and, with three quick slashes, removed the coat.

“Trip,” Hoover pointed out to his friend as he unfolded the drysuit. “Your neck.”

Kristen looked and saw a deep gouge torn across the side of the Hamilton’s neck.

“I’m okay,” Hamilton replied as he positioned himself to the left of the horseshoe facing back toward the road. Alvarez was covering the right side. Meanwhile, Grogan grabbed one of the claymore mines from Kristen’s rucksack. The Chief then went back toward the road as more vehicle lights could be seen approaching in the distance.

“Where are you going?” she asked, but Grogan didn’t answer.

She resumed helping Hoover as he pulled the drysuit onto Choi who, in his intoxicated state, was not much help. He was speaking almost constantly however, looking at Kristen and carrying on a one-sided conversation, smiling at her and touching her affectionately.

“I think he likes you,” Hoover offered.

“Great,” she replied, her humor now more of a defense mechanism. “Just what I need, a sixty-five-year-old boyfriend with a heart condition.”

Hamilton joined them and grabbed their rebreathers from the cache and a minute later Grogan returned. “They’ve got a helicopter up,” Hamilton offered calmly as he divided up their dive gear while Grogan grabbed a second claymore mine.

Kristen was still helping with Choi’s gear but looked up and saw a helicopter moving over the tree tops several miles away, heading right toward them.

Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit!

The feeling that they’d run out of time caused the urge to panic rise up in her. Clearly the SEALs realized they were in trouble. Alvarez joined them in the horseshoe and began pulling on his gear. Grogan had run off to set up the second claymore mine. On the road, illuminated by yet another flare, Kristen saw what had to be at least one hundred soldiers, moving on line, sweeping through the rocks right toward them.

“They’re coming,” she said anxiously.

“Just work,” Hoover advised her with tension in his own voice. He then spoke to Alvarez, “Al, you need to warm up the sub.”

“I’m on it, bro,” the Latino responded as he pulled on his rebreather.

For some vain reason she felt a little better when she heard the stress in their voices. She’d heard the same in Grogan’s tone as well, and realizing they were as scared as she was somehow made what was happening not quite as bad. The only one who seemed unaffected by the growing menace approaching them was Hamilton. She saw him working with annoying calm as if this were all some harmless training exercise.

As soon as they had most of the suit on Choi, Hoover sat him up so Kristen could finish dressing the Korean, and then he turned to Hamilton’s neck and applied a battle dressing to the wound. Hamilton had already donned his LAR-7.

Grogan returned and began handing her Choi’s dive gear. “Get him geared up and then yourself,” Grogan ordered as he shoved a fresh magazine in his rifle. “We’ve got maybe two minutes before we’d better be gone or we’re going to be in deep shit.”

“I thought we already were in deep shit,” she told him as she started putting the dive gear on Choi who appeared quite undisturbed by the situation. Off to their left, a light flashed. She turned and saw a patrol boat approaching with a searchlight reaching out into the darkness looking for them.

“Chief!” she said to him, suddenly feeling like the two minutes he’d promised had just dwindled to a few seconds.

“Trip!” Grogan snapped and nodded toward the patrol boat. “He’s yours!”

Hamilton responded without any visible sign he’d even heard Grogan. He finished putting on his dive gear and then calmly grabbed his machine gun and moved off into deep water. He reminded Kristen of some amphibious predator that had been waiting on the rocks for its next meal.