Tropical Terror (22 page)

Lam came over the top and dropped to his feet. He nodded.

Tucker lifted up and stared to the west over the top of the bunker.

“This is the far east end of the clearing,” he said. “The Chinese put a small tent bivouac under some trees about fifty yards back toward the tents.”

“Murdock, clear on MG right.” It was DeWitt.

“Clear on MG left. Hold your position. We may have the troops move up. Evaluating.”

“They can't have more than twenty men left,” Tucker said.

Murdock used the mike. “Whoever has those EAR rifles, get your asses up here. I want one in each of the old MG bunkers. Move your fat asses. We could get a counter at any
time and we can't use the twenties up here near the tents. Move it now!”

Murdock didn't know who had the EARs, but they seemed the best bet. Even the 5.56's could send a lot of danger at the tents if the five men up here had to fire at oncoming Chinese.

“Let me go take a look, Skip,” Lam asked. “I'm sure none of the little bastards are out this way. I won't make any contact, just peek and snoop.”

“Go. Radio me anything vital like you getting pinned down. Take Tucker with you.” Tucker grinned and nodded. The two went over the side of the bunker on their bellies, came to their hands and feet, and then ran soundlessly toward a splotch of pine, cedar, and juniper on the left.

A pistol shot jolted through the bunker, and Murdock felt the white-hot fury as a poker reamed into his left leg and dug deep, burning all the way far into the flesh of his left leg. He whirled and fired six rounds from the Bull Pup into the body that had been draped over the MG on the bunker floor. He must be tired. What the hell was he thinking? None of them had made sure the body was dead. It was now. He saw the pistol slip from the Chinese man's hand and a last gush of air come from dead lungs.

“Skipper, you all right?” In his earpiece.

“Yeah, our Chinese friend wasn't quite dead. He is now.”

“You hit?”

“Yeah, but not bad, just in the left leg. What are you finding?”

“Nothing yet.” The words were whispers from the night. “Tucker says the bivouac is just ahead.”

There was silence for a few seconds. “Oh, shit, Skip. Here they come, a damn assault line. Must be fifty of the little bastards and they're heading straight for you.”

When the first firing broke out, Sara Livingston knew what it was. She grabbed the blankets, slid under the bunk on the floor, and pulled the blankets around her. The wooden sides of the tent frame would at least slow down any stray rounds. She'd seen enough shooting scenes to know what bullets could do. The tent top would not stop anything.

She huddled there for what she figured was an hour. Then the door jerked open and Lieutenant Hing stormed in. He was swearing in Chinese, she was sure. He rummaged around in a box that had been locked and pulled out another pistol. She watched him a moment, then cried and wiggled out from under the bed. She was still naked. She removed the three-inch hat pin from her hair and held it hidden in her hand.

“Who's shooting?” she asked. “Will they hurt any of us?”

He turned to look at her and some of the anger drained from his face.

“Wish I had time right now. You are so damn sexy. Just like those sophomore girls who wanted it all the time. Come here.”

She walked to him, hips swaying, her breasts bouncing
and jiggling. He bent and kissed both breasts, then stepped back. He was about to say something when her right hand jolted out. She swung her hand straight at his heart. The hat pin stuck out between the knuckles of her closed fist like an ice pick.

Before he could cry or jump back, the hat pin lanced into his flesh, scraped off a rib, and plunged deeply into his heart. Surprise turned to shock and then to pain. He tried to grab his chest. Instead he caught her arm. He dropped to his knees, taking her with him. Then he shivered and shook his head. His other hand reached for her throat, but fell away. He let go of her wrist and dropped hard to one side.

Sara grabbed the pistol in the holster at his belt. Racked back the slide to make sure there was a round in the chamber. Then she shot the Chinese lieutenant four times in the chest. Sara watched him die with a hard smile on her face. The bastard got what he deserved. She just happened to be the one to pull the trigger. She stared at his dead body a moment more, then picked up the other pistol and held both of them. Sara had never killed anyone before. A shiver ran down her spine, but she lifted her chin and it went away. He should be dead. She wouldn't think about it anymore.

She picked up her clothes and dressed, then looked in the box to see if she could find the keys to the padlocks. Sara grabbed a ring with several keys on it.

She hurried to the tent door and looked outside. She still had one of the pistols in each hand. For a moment she saw nothing. Then her candle-lighted blindness receded and she saw two Chinese soldiers running to the east. There were no guards around the tents. Maybe they were fighting.

Sara slipped out of the tent and wished for shadows, but there were none. She walked toward the tent three down where she had been with Patricia. The candle still burned inside. Sara slipped in and found Patricia sleeping curled up in the blanket.

There were four keys on the ring. The third one opened the small padlock holding the metal strap around Patricia's wrist.

The woman came awake slowly, then reached out and hugged Sara.

“Oh, you're back. Sara, I was so frightened for you.”

“That part is over. I have the keys, you're unlocked. Come on, let's get the men freed before any soldiers come back.”

Patricia frowned. “But we're chained up.” She lifted her arm to prove it, and when she saw it was free she shrieked in delight.

“How in the world . . .”

“Don't wonder, just hurry outside with me. Come on.”

In the darkness of the men's tent they stumbled, and the governor came out of a troubled sleep.

“Who's there?” he asked.

“Just us chickens, Governor. I have the key to your padlock. You'll have to pick the right one. Let's get out of here.”

“What about Lieutenant Hing?”

“Don't ask. We can talk later. Get your lock undone.”

The others awoke. The governor got his cuff off and gave the key to Vince Yamamoto, who did the same. Harry Chung's lock needed a different key. Each of the two aides took one of the pistols.

“Where's Karl?” Chung asked.

“I heard him slip out about an hour or so ago,” the governor said. “He opened the lock on his cuffs.”

The five moved to the door and waited while the governor looked out.

“Looks clear. Where do we go?”

“Straight over there into the brush and trees, and then we hike for two hundred yards downhill so they can't find us,” Chung said. They moved quickly across the thirty yards of cleared space to the nearest vegetation, and walked into it.

Once there, Sara told them what happened at the tent to the lieutenant.

The governor took one of the weapons, checked it for a load, and pushed on the safety. “Are you sure about the lieutenant?” he asked her softly so the others couldn't hear.

“He's dead. Now we should move farther from the camp.”

They did.

 

Murdock could see some of the muzzle flashes blossoming in front of him. He had about ten seconds to decide. Did he cut and run and live to fight another day? Or did he use the
twenty and see how much he could discourage the fifty Chinese troopers who were said to be storming toward his position?

There couldn't be fifty, but even twenty would be too many. Also, he didn't know where Lam and the Marine were. He might be firing right into them.

Something sounded beside him and he looked over at Ron Holt, who lifted the EAR weapon over the side of the bunker and fired at the muzzle flashes from the Chinese ahead of them.

Yes. That would help, might do the trick. Another of the familiar whooshing sounds came from the other machine-gun pit. Then Holt fired again. The gun flashes had been cut in half.

“Yes, Holt, do them again.”

When the ten-second recharge turned the firing light red, Holt had his target and fired. Six more muzzle flashes ceased in front of them, and the gunners evidently went to ground.

The earpiece spoke to Murdock. “That old EAR job did the trick, Skipper. Looks like about a dozen of them left and they are moving back. Oh, yeah, now they're running.”

“We used six shots. Any close to you guys?”

“No, we were well clear. Karl, the Marine, says looks like the Chinese bastards are heading for their bivouac. That could mean a hasty retreat.”

“Stay with them. What about the hostages? You anywhere near the tents?”

“Another fifty yards. I can see lights in two of them. No, just one. Must be a candle. We'll check them out if we get that far.”

“Roger that. Keep us up to date.” Murdock nodded and whacked Holt on the shoulder.

“Nice shooting, radioman. I'd be Chinese stir-fry if you hadn't used that EAR. No way I could risk the twenties with Lam and Grant out in front. Tell the rest of the platoon to get their lazy asses up here. Nobody can push us off now. I'm going to do a little recon on my own.” He stopped. “Right after I tie up this damn round through my leg.” He used the kerchief he'd worn around his neck all day. When he had the blood stopped and the wrap tight, he moved.

Murdock lifted over the lip of the bunker and ran low and fast to the edge of the brush out thirty feet. Then he worked through it toward the west and where the hostages had to be.

A few minutes later he came on the Chinese bodies. They sprawled on the ground, all unconscious. Yes, he saw the argument that non-lethal weapons like the EAR could be used both ways. Knock them out and then execute them when you rolled over them. But not this time. There would be hours to take care of the silent ones later.

He moved toward the tents that he could see now. They showed only as a row of dark shadows in the dusky moonlight. All except one, where a flickering light stood out like a firefly at midnight. Now that he was closer, he watched for guards. There must be several around the captives.

“Skip, we might have some trouble over here.”

It was Lam. “What and where?”

“We're near the Chinese bivouac. Looks like the soldiers are clearing out everything of value. My guess is that they're getting ready to make a permanent move.”

“Which means we'd have all sorts of hell trying to find them in the heavily forested sections below.”

“Right. Damn near impossible. I've got the twenty and Karl picked up another of the H & K 53's. Want us to nail all of them we can from here?”

“Impact on the twenties to keep them away from the tents?”

“Karl says we're more than seventy-five yards from the tent tops.”

“I'm at the bodies. Where do I go from here to lend a hand?”

“We're about a hundred yards ahead of you and bear to the left around the side of the clearing. Can't miss us. I have my weapons free.”

“Fire at will, sweetheart.”

Murdock lifted up and ran hard forward as he spoke into the mike. “Holt, where the hell are the rest of the troops? We could use some more firepower up here.”

“Jefferson and Ostercamp are here, Skip. We'll move up now at the firing. Rest of them are almost to the top.”

“Move it, you three. Hang to the left of the clearing and do it in a sprint.”

“We're gone, Skipper.” The three SEALs lifted their weapons, charged in rounds, and ran flat out toward the men ahead of them.

Lam's first impact-round twenty hit a heavy tree trunk ten feet over the heads of the Chinese infantry. The splash of the shrapnel was deadly. It sliced open two soldiers nearby, put hot steel in four more, and killed three of them.

Karl opened up with the submachine gun firing the 5.56 rounds on full auto. He soon mastered the art of the six-round burst, and put the rest of the Chinese on the ground ducking behind trees and any other cover they could find.

Lam fired three more times with the twenty, the rounds exploding in the trees working almost like airbursts. Between rounds, four of the Chinese lifted up and raced into the brush on the near side of their small camp. They all carried weapons, and Lam heard harsh Chinese commands. Somebody in charge had rescued the few men he could from the shootout.

Karl emptied one magazine after the quartet, but missed them. He jammed in a fresh twenty-five-round supply, and watched through the murky night air to see if anyone else moved. One man rolled from one cover to a log. Karl moved his sights to the far end of the log, only twenty feet from the dense woods. He tracked halfway to the brush and waited.

His eyes almost closed, and then he snapped them open. Movement. Yes, there he went. Karl tracked the Chinese as he came away from the log in a sprint. Karl fired six rounds. Three of them spread to the left, the other three powered into the victim's side and back, killing him before he could roll into the ground cover less than five feet from the end of the log.

Murdock ran up and dove into the ground three feet from Lam, his Bull Pup ready to fire.

“Party is all over, but we lost four of them into the brush,” Lam said.

“Man, you should have seen this guy blasting them Chinese with his twenty,” Karl said. “I want one of them to play with.”

“Let's check on the rest of the Chinese and make sure,”
Murdock said. He told Karl to stay and cover them. They darted ahead to the killing field. Three gunshots sounded as they made sure there were no wounded to care for. SEALs take no prisoners, and leave no wounded.

Murdock thought about that as he and Lam waved Karl forward and then ran for the tents. About time they checked in with the governor and his staff.

They were halfway across the open space when a 53 opened up on them from the shadows beyond the tents. Murdock took an immediate hit on the top of his right shoulder and went down. He rolled and tried to bring up his Bull Pup, but his right arm didn't work.

Lam dove to the ground and returned fire at the muzzle flash. He ripped twelve 5.56 rounds into the area, then emptied the magazine and jammed in another one. He picked up Murdock and dragged him out of the moonlight into the shadows.

“Bastard,” Murdock exploded. “You nail him?”

“I think so, or I scared the shit out of him and he's running through the brush hoping to swim back to China. Let me look at that shoulder.”

“Up high somewhere. My fucking arm doesn't work right. Does Mahanani still have the med kit?”

“Far as I know. Yeah, you caught a good one up there, Skipper. You stay put and I'll get Doc up here to paste you together.”

He made the radio call. The medic had just hit the machine-gun pits, and swore he'd come right up and find Murdock.

Karl knelt down beside the commander. “You heading for the tents?” Karl asked. Murdock nodded, some of the pain in his shoulder burning like a seared finger on a barbecue.

“Hey, I'll back up Lam,” Karl said. “The tents are just over there. That first one with the light is the one the lieutenant in charge used.”

“Go,” Murdock said.

They went in spurts of ten yards at a time, but drew no more enemy fire. They edged up to the platform and the screen door slowly. Then, when both were in position, Karl
pulled open the screen door and Lam surged inside the tent frame.

“Clear first tent,” he said in the mike. Karl stepped inside and swore.

“Look at that bastard. Got himself a few shots in his chest. Wonder if Sara did it.” He told Lam about the officer dragging Sara out of the next tent as she screamed up a battle cry.

“So who is leading their troops?” Lam asked.

“There were two sergeants. One of them must have taken over. Let's check the other tents.”

They took the candle with them after blowing it out. They lit it in the next tent, which was empty. Karl motioned them down to the next-to-last tent.

“The women were in here. Patricia Combs should be here.”

Nobody was in the tent. The padlocks had been unlocked. They checked the men's tent and found the same thing, along with a ring of keys on the floor.