Tropical Terror (25 page)

Vince wasn't sure what to do. He'd never been in the Army. He wasn't sure how the gunmen would react if he suddenly appeared. A call. Yeah. Might work. He waited until he saw another of the armed men, and called out in a loud baritone.

“Help. We need help over here.”

The military man said something into a lip mike near his mouth and ran toward where he had heard the sound.

Vince waited. The soldier came and waved his weapon at the area. “Who said that? Where are you?”

“Who are you?” Vince called. “You don't look Chinese.”

As he said it twelve more men surged from the brush across the way and ran toward him.

“We're American Navy SEALs,” the armed man said.

Vince frowned. Navy? Sure looked like Army. “You hunting somebody?”

“The governor and his staff. You part of it?”

A civilian ran up and came near the edge of the brush. It was Karl Tucker. Vince recognized him.

“Vince Yamamoto, is that you, you son of a bitch?”

“Oh, yeah, Karl, I'm coming out. Tell your friends not to shoot me.”

Vince and Tucker talked a minute, and then Vince fired the pistol three times.

“We're going down and help them come up,” Karl called to the SEALs. Then they rushed down the slope.

A half hour later, the governor and his staff were all back in the tents, trying to unwind. The first Sea Knight had landed and taken Murdock and half the SEALs and the twelve Chinese prisoners off the mountain, heading for Hickam air base on Oahu.

The governor said he wanted to be the last one off the mountain. He had gone to look at the nuns, and he'd wept as he saw what had happened to them.

“I'd been afraid of that. They never appeared after the Chinese came in their helicopters. How can we notify the Maui authorities?”

DeWitt did it on the SATCOM. CINCPAC said they would put through a radio call to the civilian lawmen in the area.

DeWitt ushered the last of the SEALs and the governor and his staff into the second Sea Knight.

“It's not the first-class flights you're used to, but at least no one is going to be shooting at you,” Dewitt said.

The governor smiled. “We're overjoyed to be going home, even if it is one day early. We thank the Navy SEALs for rescuing us.”

DeWitt shook his head. “We only helped, Governor. Whoever had the key that let you get free of those chains is the person who should be thanked for your rescue. If you had been in those tents when we attacked, it would have been much harder for us. You have a hero in your midst. I hope that person gets the proper recognition.”

The governor nodded. “She will, at least a medal of some kind. Yes, I guarantee to you all that she will be recognized and honored.”

The Sea Knight settled down in a restricted area of Hickam Field. There a limousine met the governor and his party and hurried them toward the nearest hospital where the governor's leg would be treated. The news conference would come later. Ed held his squad on the bird until the limo was well away. Then they walked off and headed the other way. An Air Force bus hurried up and a first lieutenant stepped out.

“Sorry we missed you at the chopper. We're to take you where you want to go.”

When Ed DeWitt stepped out, the two saluted. “We need to get to our quarters over on Pearl. Possible?”

“Absolutely.” The Air Force officer stared at the EAR rifle and shook his head. “That's the strangest-looking weapon I've ever seen. What does it do?”

“Strange things, Lieutenant, that we can't talk about.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

Twenty minutes later the SEALs unloaded in front of their temporary quarters at Pearl Harbor. DeWitt called the base hospital and found out that Murdock was there and at the moment in surgery. He had kept the bus waiting while he
made the call, and the driver took him and Mahanani to the hospital. The doctors treated both sides of the bullet wound in the corpsman's left arm, and told him to come back in three days for a change of the dressing.

They were still working on Murdock in surgery. DeWitt tried to find out how bad the hit was, but nobody from the ER had come out and the other doctors in that area didn't know.

He and Mahanani sat and waited for the surgeons to finish their work. A really serious wound could knock Murdock right out of the SEALs' field work. That wasn't the way any SEAL wanted to end his career. Ed got up and paced, then sat down and tried to read a magazine. It was a year-old
Time
.

After another hour a doctor came out of the OR and pulled down his mask. He looked at the two men with dirty uniforms.

“You the SEALs waiting for the commander?”

“Yes, sir,” DeWitt said, jumping up. Mahanani was right beside him.

“The commander has taken a serious wound to the shoulder. The bullet cut a notch out of the tendon that goes over the top of the shoulder and controls your ability to lift your arm over your head.

“We did an MRI on it, then went in and stitched the tendon back together again. Similar to a rotator cuff surgery, but not so extreme or serious.

“With proper physical therapy, the commander should be back to ninety-five percent within two months. That means a serious, planned program of physical therapy and lots of rest.”

“Oh, yeah, that's good news, Doctor,” Mahanani said. “We appreciate your help.”

“He should be in recovery and out of the general anesthesia in about a half hour. We also cleaned the bullet wound in his left leg and rebandaged it. I'll have a corpsman show you where he'll be.”

Murdock looked angry when they saw him in recovery. He had an IV in his left arm, a bandage on his right shoulder, and he was clean.

“They almost gave me a fu . . .” He looked around. There were two other patients in the large recovery area. “Tried to give me a bath. I told them I didn't hurt there.”

He sobered. “They didn't tell me a damn thing. How is the wing? Is it as bad as they said in the chopper?”

“Doubt it,” DeWitt said. “One doctor told us you should get back ninety-five percent of your strength in the arm. That's not bad.”

Murdock looked over at his SIC. “Ninety-five? Hell, I can whip all of you guys together one-handed if I get back ninety-five. Now, where is the platoon? What's going on? You guys just get back? What's happening?”

“Impatience, thy resounding name is Murdock,” DeWitt said. Mahanani looked up at him with a frown.

Murdock snorted.

“You can't even quote it right. So? So? What's up?”

“Nothing. Just dropped off the men at the quarters and came over here. Expect to do an after-action on this one if I have time. Expect a call from CINCPAC and get our part here wrapped up. We have twenty-five-percent casualties. I'm requesting we get pulled off the front lines. At least no more missions.”

“Heard before I went into the OR that the war was about over. Just a little bit of mop-up. Casualty rate around here has gone way down lately.”

A nurse came in and waved them outside.

“Looks like the boss is ejecting us, little buddy. We'll see you as soon as they turn you loose. Probably tomorrow. Get some sleep. About what I'm going to do.”

When they returned to the SEALs' quarters there was a message. It said DeWitt should see the CINCPAC as soon as possible. Not even time to shower. DeWitt took Senior Chief Dobler with him. A Navy sedan had been standing by to transport them up the hill to see the admiral.

The four-star wasn't smiling when the two SEALs walked into his office and froze at attention.

“All right, relax, sit down,” the admiral said. “It isn't your fault. But you're going to have to help us dig out of this new mess.”

“What mess?” DeWitt wanted to ask, but he didn't.

Admiral Bennington pushed up from his chair and walked around the office. He stared out a window for a moment, then came back and sat down. “That used to help. Not this time. All of my Marines are tied up on the other side of the island chasing down stray Chinese soldiers.

“We don't have any Delta Forces here, and so I'm going to have to ask you SEALs to do one more small favor for Uncle Sam.”

“That's what we're here for, Admiral,” DeWitt said.

“Yes, well. Let's hope you feel that way when you hear what we want you to do.” The admiral pointed to a captain, who lowered a large-scale map. DeWitt saw that it was a section of Honolulu.

“The problem, SEALs, is that there is a group of fanatic Chinese who have taken over the Bishop Museum and are threatening to burn and tear and slash everything inside if we do not allow them safe passage out of the city and to one of their remaining Naval vessels.

“Hawaiian cultural groups and the hundreds of thousands of friends of the Bishop Museum are pressuring the city to give in to the fanatic terrorists and let them go. We in the military don't function that way. We want you and your men to move in and take out the enemy there with no damage whatsoever to the museum building or the employees or the artifacts.”

“Oh, boy.” DeWitt shook his head. “The admiral isn't joking about this, are you?”

“Not even a little bit. You may know that the Bishop Museum is the continuing research and display center for the histories, sciences, and cultures of all of the Pacific people. It's a shrine to many. We have to be sure it stays that way.”

“How, Admiral Bennington? We specialize in slash and burn, shoot and scoot.”

“You have the EAR weapons.”

“True, but they could shatter pottery and china, might rip apart tightly framed artwork. I'm not sure how much we could rely on them inside a building like that.”

“You'll have to find out. I understand that Commander Murdock will recover nearly full use of his right arm. We're pleased about that. That cuts your platoon down to thirteen
men, which I've found in combat is often a lucky number.”

“When, Admiral?”

“I'll have transport for you at your quarters at 2300. We hope you can go into the building through a seldom-used side door by 2400. Take any weapons you think you might need. The fanatics inside are expendable, the art treasures are not. You better get some sleep and some chow and get ready to move out.”

“Thank you, sir,” DeWitt said. Both SEALs did perfect about-faces and walked out of the office.

“It can't be done,” Dobler exploded as soon as they were outside. “I've been in the Bishop a dozen times. It's crammed with all sorts of precious stuff.”

“Zero damage was our orders. From a practical standpoint, we'll do the job with as little damage as possible. It's the only way we can win on this one. We'll take both our EARs. Wish we had four more. Where are the others?”

“In San Diego.”

“Damn.”

Outside, they found a big sedan. It had the admiral's plates on, but they were covered. A blanket had been draped in the backseat where the SEALs would sit. The Marine sergeant driver grinned at them.

“Hey, usually I don't get such high-flying VIPs in such dirty uniforms to drive around. Welcome to the best ride in the South Pacific.”

“Shut up and drive,” Dobler said. “We got problems to figure out.”

By the time they arrived at the front of their quarters, they had decided on a few things. They would take all of the flashbang grenades they could find, and the EAR guns and their sub guns and carbines. The heavy stuff would stay outside. They'd all have night-vision goggles.

Half of the SEALs had showered, eaten, and flaked out on their bunks. Dobler rounded up the rest of them from the PX, and DeWitt got them down to business. He explained their mission and the men groaned.

“Why do we get all of these don't-touch-the-goods kind of assignments?” Lam asked. “It could ruin our tough-guy image.”

“What else can we use inside there?” Dobler asked.

“What about Honolulu PD's SWAT Team's shotguns with stun balls,” Guns Franklin asked. “They'll put a man down but won't wound him. Some have strings and beads on them that inflict a lot of non-lethal pain.”

DeWitt looked around and saw heads nod. “Franklin, call our liaison, that Commander Johnson we were working with. See if he can get six of those shotguns and, say, fifty rounds. Go.”

“How we going to do this, JG?” Dobler asked.

“First we need some sketches of the place, what is where and where the Chinese might be holed up. Then we move inside and hunt them down.”

“Sounds easy, JG. We have a bunch of non-lethal so all they have to do is shoot us with their damn lethal bullets,” Fernandez said.

DeWitt looked around. “Okay, so it won't be a walk in the park. We might get lucky. We'll try the EAR first and see if it causes any damage. If it doesn't or it's minimal, we'll have nineteen shots left. Hey, make sure both weapons are on full charge. Ostercamp, check out both of those EARs now.”

The JG looked around. “Train. Get over to communications and find a fax number you can use. Then call up the Bishop Museum Association here in town and have them fax you half a dozen drawings of the layout of the museum. Also have them send brochures about the museum. Get that done as fast as you can. Urge them to reply by return phone call.”

Train nodded and hurried out of the room.

Dobler and DeWitt decided that they had done all they could before the actual assault on the museum. DeWitt left Dobler in charge of the troops, and he went back to the base hospital, where he had been told that David Sterling and Harry Ronson were recovering from their wounds received earlier in the Hawaiian mission.

DeWitt found the men both in the same four-man room in beds next to each other. DeWitt had talked to the floor nurse before he saw the men. She had been brisk, frank, and unemotional.

“The gut-shot one is still in trouble. We're not sure what
else we can do for him. The bullet is out, but there was more damage to the intestines than we had at first thought. He needs another operation to do some repair work down there. There is no danger of peritonitis, but his condition could change at any time. We watch him closely.

“The chest-shot man is in better shape. The slug missed all vital organs, but caught a good-sized vein so there was considerable interior bleeding by the time we repaired the vein. Most of that problem has been taken care of. I'd say he has another week here with us before we can release him to Balboa in San Diego.”

DeWitt had thanked her and found his two men.

“Well, the damn war must be over. Look who dragged his JG heels in here to check up on us,” Jaybird croaked. “We didn't do it, JG.”

“That's the problem, Jaybird. You were supposed to do it. How the hell are you?”

“Ready to blow out of this dump. Haven't had an MRE since I signed in here. I'm getting sloppy homesick.”

“Tough life. What about you, Ronson? Miss the slow-paced life of a SEAL on special duty?”

“Damn right, JG. When am I getting out of here? I keep telling them I can outrun any of them and do ten times the push-ups any of them can do. They won't even challenge me.”

“I'll challenge you, hotshot,” DeWitt said. “You'll get out when the white coats tell you to leave. Oh, you don't know, but the skipper is down on the fourth floor. He got a shoulder shot up.”

“Bad, JG?”

“Not good, but the docs said he should get most of the strength back in the shoulder and arm. So he can hang with us.”

“Damn glad of that,” Jaybird said. “Hey, how are those twenties working?”

“Best weapon we have. They pay their way.” He watched the two normally active SEALs, who were now laid up and helpless. “Hey, they feeding you guys enough?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jaybird said.

“If I get to eat half of the kid's chow, I can make out,” Ronson said.

The JG nodded and slapped his cammy hat on the bed rail. “Good, 'cause I need to bug out of here. We've got a walk in the park coming up tonight at 2300. You guys take care.”

“What is it?” Jaybird asked. “Where you going?”

“Like I said. A walk in the park. Tell you later. Now be good in here so when you get out we can all be bad.”

“Oh, yeah, hoooooo-ha!” both SEALs said in unison.

Back in the SEAL quarters a half hour later, DeWitt worked over the mission and what they could do. They could use some of those nets that shotguns shot out, trapping a victim, but he knew there weren't any of them around.

He and Dobler went over everything again. The men would take the two EARs and the sub guns and the Colt M- 4Al Commandos. The Honolulu Police SWAT team ferried over four shotguns and forty rounds of the special string balls. They didn't ask any questions. Just took a signed receipt and left.