Hostile Fire (10 page)

“Here, sir,” Murdock said, snapping a salute. “Reporting for duty.”

The colonel returned the salute, then shook hands. “Good to meet you, Murdock. You’ve got a tough one coming up. I almost wish I was going with you. I’m not exactly sure why you’re going in there. They tell me I have no need to know. Good luck up there. You won’t be here long. Your VC-11 is being serviced. You’ll take off at oh-seven-hundred for a short hop to Kuwait, only two hundred seventy-five miles almost due north. Don’t mess up the place—that’s my current post.”

“We’ll be gentle,” Ching said.

“Good. Now, about your jaunt to Baghdad. You’ll be going in from Kuwait in a chopper. We’ll use a version of the
Black Hawk. The Navy has flown one in from a carrier. It’s the Seahawk, the SH-60 you call it. You fly on the Iraqi deck all the way to the thirty-third parallel, which is the top of the Southern No-Fly Zone. We’ve had choppers in the area before so it shouldn’t cause that much of a flap. We’ll keep you covered all the way with a beefed-up group of fighters. If any Iraqi planes make any moves toward you, they will be taken out. We owe them a couple anyway.

“After we drop you, the chopper will take a southwestern course that will put it into Saudi Arabia along the border somewhere, and we will go in and find it. The bird can do six hundred ninety-one miles so the distance is not a factor. Speed might be. It can make only a hundred and seventy-eight miles an hour. So flying time into your drop point is roughly two hours. The planning team considered all factors and decided this was the best way to get you near the target. We have no practical fixed wing aircraft for you to bail out of near the thirty-third parallel. This particular bird is fitted with external gun and rocket pods and can give you some quick ground support if you need it. Any questions?”

“Two hours to get there?” Murdock asked. “Won’t they have a lot of people there to greet us? How can we stay all the way under their radar?”

“We’ve done it before, Commander. It works. We went in almost to the same spot a year ago to pick up a downed pilot. Everyone returned safely to Kuwait.”

The colonel looked at the other two SEALs. He continued. “Your take-along weapons must be highly concealable. You’re not soldiers; you’re just three men on their way to Baghdad in the dark. We will leave Kuwait at darkness minus ten. Which puts us into your drop zone at about twenty-one hundred. Then you’ll have eight hours to get in or near Baghdad and the chance to contact the man you’re going to see before daylight. We have his current address. Rafii will be your main man on this trip. He knows the territory.”

“We haven’t picked out weapons yet, Colonel,” Murdock said.

Don Stroh spoke up. “I’ve talked with the colonel, Murdock. We suggest you go with handguns only. Even if you all had Ingrams and you were detected, you wouldn’t be able
to shoot your way out. Iraq is an armed camp. Almost every household has one or two weapons, mostly army rifles. Men and boys spend their vacations taking weapons training and learning house-to-house fighting techniques. This must be a stealth campaign. As silent as possible. But no silencers on your pistols. Much too heavy and too hard to conceal. We suggest two pistols. A hideout on your ankle and a larger weapon in your belt or the middle of your back.”

Murdock looked at his two men. Both nodded. “We agree with you on the weapons. Don, anything more on the location of the devices?”

“Our communications link with our main man is down. Our only hope is that you can activate Mr. Jones.”

“I’m not at all happy with our intel on this. It seems like we are learning less and less about our mission as we move along. What if Jones has been compromised or turns us in when we get there? You going to bring in a Marine battalion and blast us out of town?”

Don Stroh shook his head. “Actually, sir, we don’t have the slightest idea who you are. You’re certainly not U.S. citizens and no chance are you American military. Just three soldiers of fortune who happen to speak English. Could be South African, or English, or even Australian or Canadian.”

“I guess I deserved that, Stroh. Thanks for the new toy. It could be a game breaker.”

“Gentlemen, if that’s all?” the colonel asked.

“We’re up to speed, Colonel, thanks,” Murdock said. “See you in the morning?”

“Oh, yes. I’ll be riding along with you to help move things along in Kuwait. Lots of rank over there, but I’ll have Don Stroh along with me to take care of any objections.”

“Don gets all the cushy assignments, Colonel Livingston. But I’ve got to warn you if he tries to talk you into going fishing, have a whole bunch of reasons not to go. He can really louse up a fishing trip.”

“Oh, yeah, Murdock. Who caught the most edible fish on our last trip out of Seaforth in San Diego?”

“Three sand bass as I remember, about a pound and a half each. Who caught the most legal log barracuda?”

“Who eats barracuda?”

“Last trip out I went overnight and woke up to a hot albacore bite. We boated ninety-three albies, about forty yellowtail, and twenty skipjack. I caught one of each.”

“Fish stories,” Stroh said. “You have pictures, of course.”

“Sorry, no camera.”

Colonel Livingston frowned. “You two have known each other for some time?”

“Over five long years, Colonel,” Stroh said. “He’s trying to outlast me on the job.”

“Murdock, you better be careful on this one or it could be your last mission,” Colonel Livingston said. “The Iraqis are furious about something right now. Last reports there were anti-American demonstrations all over Baghdad.”

The colonel and his staff turned toward the door.

“Teen hut!” Senior Chief Elmer Neal barked. The SEALs snapped to attention until the door closed.

“He had to tell us that,” Ching said.

“Hell, won’t bother Rafii none,” Jaybird said. “Things get too hot he just drops his pistols, melts into an alley, and finds him a hot woman to shack up with.”

Rafii snorted. “Commander, can we take Jaybird with us? We need a sacrificial goat to appease the Iraqis.”

Murdock grinned. “Maybe later. Right now I’m getting into my bunk. I have an early call. Then it’s off to Baghdad.”

Kuwait City, Kuwait

Murdock looked out the front window of the closed van as it drove across the tarmac from one side of the big airport to the other. Security was tight around the field. Snipers had been shooting into the area, and Murdock had heard that the locals were busting their balls trying to nail them down. The van pulled to a stop thirty feet from an SH-60 that sat there without its rotors turning.

Master Sergeant Phillips drove the van. He motioned to the chopper. “Thought you would want to meet the crew. Be ten hours or so before you take off.”

“Good,” Murdock said, and the three SEALs dressed as Arabs left the van and hurried over to the bird. The side door was open. An armed man jumped out of the chopper and challenged them.

“At ease,” Murdock bellowed. “Commander Murdock and team. Want to get a look at your bird before we fly out tonight.”

The man in suntan cammies relaxed and grinned. “Right, Commander, knew you were coming. Your costume threw me. You look damn good.”

“Hope we can fool the other guys,” Ching said. They checked out the chopper. They had seen lots of SH-60s before. This one had mounts for door machine guns but none in place. A lieutenant came out of the cabin and stared at Murdock.

“Commander, you the same Murdock who used to throw beer around in San Diego?”

Murdock looked up. “Streib. I’ll be damned. You finally got your wings. You used to bitch enough about getting to go to flight training. Looks like you’re doing okay.”

“I’m getting by. I’m on a six-month blue water, then it’s back home to Seattle. Hey, let me tell you about rain.”

“Been there,” Murdock said. “Can this crate get us up to the thirtieth parallel without clipping any trees or mountains?”

“I hope to hell we can. Went up that way once before. No real problems. Just so the damn civilians will keep their rifles quiet.”

“Pick up some ground fire?”

“Oh, yeah. They know that the Iraqi flyboys won’t be down this far, so they whale away.”

The van horn beeped.

“I think that’s Mother calling,” Murdock said. “We’re due somewhere. See you about sunset.”

Back in the van, Don Stroh frowned. “We hear about more demonstrations against the U.S. in all the big towns in Iraq. In that country that means women out there marching and firing off their rifles right alongside the men. Seems weird. Well, not much we can do about it. You get in, find Jones, and convince him to help you, then radio us where the cache is and we’ll start converging on it.”

“If you get to the bombs before we do, go right ahead and do the honors,” Murdock said. “We could have some trouble moving in that direction.”

“Trouble is your middle name, Murdock,” Stroh said. “You’re lucky there isn’t any good fishing around here.”

“Right now I have all the angling I can take care of. I’m feeling naked already without my combat vest and my Bull Pup.”

“Get used to it.” Stroh grinned at Murdock’s discomfort. Then he sobered. “Oh, did anyone tell you that you have three days to find out where the devices are?”

“Three days? Why?”

“They didn’t tell me. They want this all cleared up in five days. Three for you and two for Kat and her buddies on the boom-boom.”

“Not even Kat can blow them up if she doesn’t know where they are. If it takes us four or five, you’ll have to live with that. We set with this little radio, this poor man’s SATCOM?”

“Right. We talk only if we have news. Time it at twelve noon and midnight. Don’t call us, just transmit. We’ll be receiving all the time in case you have a problem. After your message we’ll give you a ten-four to let you know we got the call.”

“When do we eat?” Ching asked. “I want a damn full belly before I get into all that Iraqi chow.”

“Mess call is at noon today and again at four,” Stroh said. The master sergeant will be your guide. Then by seven o’clock you’re at the chopper pad.”

“What do we do until the food?” Rafii asked.

“We sleep,” Murdock said. “We won’t get much where we’re going. Stroh, you have some bunks we can claim?”

At 1850 they stepped on board the S-76 and closed the side doors. The three SEALs sat on the floor and looked for something to hold on to.

“Two hours,” Ching said. They had been sweating in their Arab costumes, but once they were in the air, the inside of the bird cooled off. The pilot had waved at them as they boarded. Now he had his job to do, and he had to do it well or all of them would splash down on some barren Iraqi hill in one huge fuel-induced fireball.

An hour into the flight Murdock heard some pinging on the side of the ship. “Ground fire,” he shouted, and the others nodded. The noise of the engine and the rotor made normal conversation impossible.

A half hour later the crew chief came back and signaled to Murdock to come forward. In the cabin he watched Streib fly the chopper. He turned and shouted.

“Early by ten. Three minutes to the LZ. Get ready.”

Murdock nodded and went back to his men. He motioned them up. “Two minutes to the LZ,” he shouted. The men adjusted their clothes, then made sure the belt pistols were in place and stood beside the door waiting for Murdock to open it.

The wheels hit with a soft thump. Murdock rammed the door open and the SEALs jumped out and sprinted straight north away from the sound of the machine that could bring any nearby natives to the scene with their AK-47s up and
firing on full automatic. They surged away fifty yards, then dove to the ground and listened. The chopper could barely be heard. It had jolted into the air ten seconds after the wheels hit, and rocketed south at full throttle.

The three SEALs in their Arab costumes lay on a small rise. Nowhere ahead or to the sides could they see any lights. Murdock had taken the handle off the thermal imager to save two inches of bulk. He brought it out now and scanned the low land in front of them.

“Hold it. I’m getting something.” He laughed softly. “About twenty goats up there a hundred yards. Most of them down and sleeping. If there’s goats, there’s a goat herder close by. Let’s go around then to the left.”

The ground here was rocky and barren, with an occasional planted field. “We’re supposed to be about fifteen miles from the major highway north to our left,” Murdock said. “The Tigris River is about fifteen miles to our right. Our best move is to get to the highway and see if we can con a ride into Baghdad.”

“It’s how far north?” Rafii asked.

“About thirty miles, but we’ll run into houses and villages long before then.”

“I remember one place—Kahn Azad,” Rafii said. “Our family had relatives there. I think I had three cousins there. I wouldn’t know them from Jaybird now.”

“No help there,” Ching said.

They stood and hiked soundlessly fifty yards to the left, then turned north at a steady trot. A half mile up a gentle valley they could see lights ahead.

“We could use a car,” Murdock said.

“You find a car and I can jump the wires to get it started,” Ching said.