Tropical Terror (29 page)

“We had a whole damn war to fight.”

“A short one.”

“True. How is the shoulder?”

“Great. Want to arm wrestle?”

“Not by long distance. Just wanted to check in. We know your group had itself shot up some. Nothing looks imminent back here right now.”

“If it does, go for another platoon. Ours won't be ready for combat action for three months.”

“A lot might happen in three months, Murdock.”

“Call another fireman. Our fire extinguishers need refilling.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

A buzzer sounded on Murdock's desk.

Murdock grinned. Saved by the bell. “Hey, just got a summons to the boss's office. I'll get back to you . . . in about three months.” He hung up and waited three beats. When he picked up the phone, Stroh was gone. He dialed the quarterdeck.

“Murdock here. You buzzed.”

“Yes, sir, you have a call on line two. I'll put it through.”

“Hello?”

“Oh, good, Murdock. I was wondering about lunch at your place. I'm putting together a fancy tomato, bacon, and lettuce sandwich I think you'll like.”

“Ardith, how in hell?”

“Connections. I phoned earlier from the plane. Can you
struggle and get away early today, like about now? I bet you have some leave time coming.”

“Aye, aye, ma'am. I'm on my way. What kind of a sandwich was that again?” It was a private joke.

“You'll have to wait and see. Now hurry home.”

Murdock eased into his parking slot at the apartment complex less than a mile from the quarterdeck and let a small groan slip out. He had tried to shift the car into park with his right hand the way he always did.

The knifing pain in his shoulder stopped him. He reached through the steering wheel with his left hand, shifted into park, and put on the safety club. With an effort he held it in place with his right hand and spread it apart with his left. So damn much trouble. He eased out of the car, closed the door with his left hand, and zapped the locks on with the button on his key ring, again with his left hand. Too damn much trouble.

He looked up and saw Ardith waiting for him on the small balcony/porch in front of his second-floor unit. It wasn't large. He was there only a third of the time. He ran up the steps, and pulled her inside and kissed her thoroughly.

“Oh, my, now that's what I call a welcome to California,” she said.

“That's only a fraction of the welcome you're going to get.”

“Good. Right here?”

He led her into the bedroom and opened the buttons of her pure white blouse.

“What about your shoulder? I don't want to hurt you.”

“We'll figure out a way that won't hurt.”

They did.

Later, they went back to the living room and stared at the small blaze she'd built in the fireplace.

“I'm interested. How did you know when I was released?”

“Would you believe I guessed?” She let her long blond hair swing outward around her face, then fall until it nearly covered her bare breasts.

“No. Not a chance.”

“So I called a friend out here and asked him to call me when you hit the bricks. He did.”

“Navy, he'd have to be Navy, and a medical man. Which one?”

“Your surgeon. He's a lieutenant commander. I promised him that I'd take a quick look at the promotion list to see if he made commander. He did. I told him. He called me. I flew.”

They made love again, then watched the fire, and then simply looked at each other. Their desire grew and multiplied until he laughed softly and lay on the rug on his back.

“This way it can't hurt my shoulder at all.”

She moved on top of him and positioned herself, then thrust forward and down. Her passion made her face even more beautiful. “Lover Blake. At the moment your shoulder is not the part of you I'm most interested in.”

At 2330 they called for Chinese food. Three restaurants didn't deliver that late. They settled for two small pizzas topped with sausage, pineapple, and ham.

“Did you sign yourself out for a seven-day liberty?”

“Can't until tomorrow when DeWitt comes back. Did I tell you what a great job he did in Hawaii after I had my small problem?”

Ardith touched his shoulder tenderly. “You call this a small problem? If it doesn't heal right it could knock you off the SEAL field teams roster. Doesn't that bother you?”

He wiped his left hand slowly over his face. A long sigh
came from Murdock and he kissed her cheek. “Yes, it bothers me. It bothers me more than anything has in the past five years. It scares the hell out of me.”

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled his head down to cushion on her breasts. “Have you thought about crying?”

He looked up at her and frowned. “Woman, there ain't no such thing as crying in the SEALs. You know that.”

“I won't tell.”

“Better not. I cry when one of my men dies. That's the time for crying. That's off-line, off the record, not available for comment. This isn't something I cry about. I worry. I wonder. I wish like hell it never happened.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Nothing to tell. We had most of them captured or dead on top of the mountain at a rustic-challenge type of camp. Three of us headed across an open space aiming for the tents where we figured the Chinese held the hostages. It was dark and I felt fairly secure. Then some slant-eyed little fucking bastard blasted away from the shadows and cut me down. I tried to bring up my weapon, but my right arm didn't work right. I never saw the Chink shit-eater who shot me.”

“That's a good start. What would it mean if you couldn't stay in the Third Platoon?”

“Cut my heart out. It's more now than just the SEALs. It's this connection with the CIA and the CNO, the top man in the whole damn Navy, and that phone call that comes sometimes from the President himself saying, ‘Good job, SEALs.' It's a surge of marvelous feeling that puts my best climax to shame. It's a high that cocaine can't touch. It's a rush like no man has ever felt before.

“Knowing that we're out there on the cutting edge of American policy and enforcement and the covert jobs we go on. It's knowing all those state secrets nobody else knows about, and the jobs that we do and never get credit for, and we say, ‘So what? Who gives a damn? We were there. We did it. We made a huge difference in the history of the United States and of the whole damn world.' ”

He sat up and stared at her. “What the hell am I doing? I've never put how I felt about this outfit into words before.
Am I too damn late? Is it all over but the medics pinning a red badge on my fitness file?”

She bent forward and kissed his lips so tenderly that he barely felt it. It was the brush of a butterfly's wings.

“This is good, talking it out. Hey, my gut feeling is that your shoulder is going to heal just fine. The doctor I talked with said that an injury like yours is similar to a rotator-cuff problem. Only, here your tendon was not torn apart. Which means it has an even better chance of getting back to full use, and full-charge-ahead SEAL work.”

He put his left hand on her flat naked belly. “Woman, I hope to hell that your gut feeling is right. I don't even have those kinds of feelings yet. Maybe after a month. I have this damn sling for another two weeks.”

“Which must mean that you don't want your men to see you with the sling. Are you afraid that would help erode your command presence?”

“Could do some of that.”

“How many of the men currently in your platoon have been wounded in your missions?”

“Hell, most of them. Ed has. Maybe only two out of the sixteen haven't been shot up here and there. Hey, I never thought of that.” He shook his head and took another long breath. “Okay, maybe the sling isn't such a big deal.”

“Then Ed will take the men on their training runs and conditioning swims and other training, right?”

“He'll damn well have to. I can't.”

“It's hard to accept, isn't it?”

“What, smart lady from Washington, D.C.?”

“The fact that you're wounded, probably worse than you ever have been before.”

“I think I understand that part of it after almost two weeks of pain.”

“You understand the fact of it, but do you accept the reality of it?”

“Hey, I'm no shrink. I just do the job.”

“Good. Right now your job, your only job, is to get that shoulder well so you can stay with the platoon.”

“Only job?”

“Absolutely, your only job. Otherwise you're pushing a
pencil somewhere in the non-field swamp that makes up the rest of the SEAL Team Seven.”

“I'll be damned, woman. How can you be so beautiful and so smart at the same time?”

“I've been hanging out with a bunch of rowdy SEALs. That's my only defense.”

“Sounds reasonable to me.”

They were still talking when the sun came up. Ardith sat up and stretched.

“Suppose it's time we got to sleep?”

“Probably. Maybe just one small nap.”

They slept until noon.

Over a bacon and eggs and flapjack breakfast, Murdock called Master Chief MacKenzie. Before he could get in a word, the master chief was off.

“Commander, sir. Do you realize that you have almost three months of leave built up? You haven't been taking your thirty days and it's a shame.”

“Then why don't your write me up for two weeks, Master Chief. Do the paperwork and sign it for me starting as of today. Tell DeWitt he has the con until I get back. Make it medical leave or whatever you want. I'll see you in two weeks.”

“Yes, lad. That's fine. My compliments to that nice lady Ardith Manchester. Oh, one small item. The JG asked me to tell you that he's having the traditional fish fry tonight at his apartment recreation area. All SEALs of the Third are required to attend, except Jaybird. Any SEAL is entitled to bring one lady friend—wife or mistress, it doesn't matter. He was hoping that you could make it, sir.”

Murdock grinned. Tradition? Since when. “Master Chief, you tell the JG that Ardith and I will be delighted to attend. I'll bring an extra can of lighter fluid just to be sure he can get the charcoal started.”

“I'll tell him that, Commander. Oh, one more small matter. Commander Masciarelli wants to see you. I told him you were on leave for a week or maybe two. He said some unkind words and hung up without saying gud'ay.”

“A shame, Master Chief. Looks like I'll have to stop by and see the commander when I return.”

“Sounds about right.”

“See you tonight for fish?”

“Afraid not. My stomach, you know. I gave my regrets to the JG.”

“Thanks, Gordon.”

“You bet, Commander. See you when you get back.”

The party was well under way when Murdock and Ardith arrived at l830. The recreation area of DeWitt's apartment complex was near the back, with three stationary barbecues and six picnic tables and benches solidly bolted to the concrete slabs.

Ed and Milly met them at the gate and ushered them in. Everyone was in mufti and looking comfortable. Ed and Milly wore their matching Hawaiian flowered aloha shirts.

“About time you got here, Skipper,” Ed said. “Now we can put on the fish before the guys get too bombed to eat.”

The salmon fillets went on the grill and DeWitt, Ching, and Mahanani wielded the spatulas, vying to see who could turn out the best cooked salmon. Maria Fernandez hurried over and grabbed Ardith and Milly, and they walked to a table where Nancy Dobler sat. Soon the four women were in a gab session.

Murdock grabbed a cold beer from a cooler and watched his men. He wasn't used to drinking left-handed, but he got by. There was no way he could lift the can up to his mouth with his right hand.

Two or three of the men had brought bimbos with them. He had no idea where the SEALs had grabbed up the women on such short notice. A half hour after he arrived, Murdock saw Lampedusa and a slinky little brunette make their way out of the recreation area and head for DeWitt's apartment. Boys would be boys.

Tony Ostercamp and Bill Bradford got into an argument that Senior Chief Dobler had to settle. They all grinned, tipped their beers, and went to yell at the three cooks.

“Get your plates off the first table,” DeWitt called. “This salmon takes about three minutes on each side, so it's almost done.”

The men lined up at the barbecues, and then moved back, giving the ladies the first run at the salmon.

Before they could start serving, somebody bellowed from near the gate.

“Hold the chow, you Boy Scouts. Let the real SEAL show up and take charge.” An orderly complete with white cap and uniform powered a wheelchair over the ground toward the grills.

“Jaybird, you roustabout,” Ching yelled. “What the hell you doing out of the pigpen?” Then they all ran to where his wheelchair had hit rough ground. They picked it up and carried it the last fifty feet to the tables.

“Easy, easy, I'm a surgical case here,” Jaybird brayed at them.

“I've got some surgery you can do on me,” Franklin yelped.

“How the hell you get out of the hospital?” Murdock asked.

“Got my keeper here, Charlie, and he's so dry he needs about a dozen beers. Get him some, guys. Charlie has my liberty chit and I've got to be back in that bed by midnight. Sort of.”

“Yeah, but who authorized it?” DeWitt asked.

“Authorized it myself. Wrote up the order, made the rank a bit confused, and pushed it through. Nobody gave a damn. Just so I don't get busted up none.”

“On this salmon you might,” Jefferson barked, and they all laughed.

They moved back to the grills and everyone was served. The meal had side dishes of baked potatoes, three kinds of steaming vegetables, hot rolls, and tea, coffee, or beer.

Another argument broke out, and DeWitt stepped in to calm down Jefferson and Ron Holt.

“Come on, you guys,” DeWitt said. “No fighting at least until you're half drunk. Then you'll have an excuse.”

It would not have been a fair fight. They shook hands, then raced for the grills for seconds on salmon.

Murdock and Ardith sat at a table across from Nancy and Senior Chief Dobler. The women talked kids for ten minutes. Then they stood and walked over by the swings, talking all the way. Murdock went to the grill for more salmon.

Three SEALs began singing a loud and bawdy song. Their women for the night giggled, then laughed, trying to join in. Beer flowed and flowed. When the food was gone, DeWitt brought out wrapped ice-cream bars and handed them out.

Murdock stopped DeWitt. “Hey, when did this barbecue get to be a tradition?”

“Few months back after you and Stroh went fishing. Don't you remember?”

“Sure, but we never caught any salmon.”

“Try harder next time,” DeWitt said, and tossed Murdock two more cold beers.

Murdock noticed more of the single SEALs make trips to the apartment with their girls of the night. There were more songs and bawdy stories. Then Jaybird had the idea.

“Hey, guys. Let's go down to MacB's and see what the babes look like.”

“What good could you do them?” Jefferson asked, and they all howled in delight.

“More good than you could ever figure. Who's with me? Anybody got a van I could roll into?”

Ardith had been enjoying talking with the other SEAL women. Now she came back to where Murdock stood near the grills.

“You can't let Jaybird go,” she said.

Murdock took her elbow and walked out of the lights into the darkness.

“I can't stop him. He's over twenty-one and a SEAL.”

“But isn't that a rowdy bar with lots of fights?”

“True, favorite hangout of the guys. They can take care of themselves and watch out for Jaybird. Let's help Ed and Milly clean up this place.”

The SEALs hurried out the gate, and piled into half a dozen cars and roared away. Jaybird's keeper/orderly didn't object. He was so drunk he had passed out once already. They would leave him in the car.

It was less than five minutes to the waterfront-type bar where the SEALs liked to hang out and where they had certain privileges.

Twelve half-drunk SEALs and four party-dressed women charged into MacB's ten minutes later and took over the place. There were fifteen men and two women there at the time. Eight of the white-sided-haircut young men were drinking together.

Tran Khai bumped into one of the white-sides as he eased into a stool at the bar. Train was the first SEAL to get drunk at every outing. The military-haircut man turned and growled. Mahanani loomed over the white-side a second later.

“Hey, my little buddy here is in his cups. He didn't mean any harm. What say?”

“Who the hell you think you are, sad ass?”

“We're SEALs and we're celebrating. Who the hell do you think you are, grab ass?”

“We're Marines, and we think all SEALs are chicken-fuckers.”

Suddenly the place was quiet. The Marine's words had rung out sharp and clear in the bar.

Then the Marine threw half a glass of beer in Mahanani's face. It took only a microsecond for the big Hawaiian/Tahitian to react. His right fist came out and sank four inches into the Marine's surprised gut. Then his left looped upward, found the Marine's chin just as he started to bend over to relieve his gut pain. The Halls of Montezuma man arched backward and fell on a table where three civilians sat. The table lost a leg and crashed to the floor with the dazed Marine on top of it.

“What the fuck?” another Marine shrilled.

Four more Marines rushed up, and the civilians from the smashed table jumped away from it, and then headed for Mahanani and Train.

For a moment it looked like seven on two. Then three more SEALs spotted the trouble and waded in. Fists flew, bodies dropped and jumped up. It turned into a free-for-all with all the SEALs except Jaybird in the center of the battle with the eight Marines and five or six civilians who chose the wrong side.

Lampedusa found himself facing a snarling Marine who was almost as drunk as he was. They swung, missed, and swung again, and both hit. Lam came sober in a rush, and jabbed the Marine twice with his left, then swung from the bleachers with his right fist and tagged the corporal on the side of the jaw. The Marine jolted back a step, stood there as his eyes glazed, then dropped to his knees and fell flat on his face on the barroom floor.

Canzoneri dragged a civilian off Ostercamp and jabbed a hard right fist into his face, then threw two left jabs and lifted his right knee hard into the civilian's crotch. The man's eyes went wide. He tried to scream, but only a gargled belch came out as he grabbed his crotch with both hands and staggered toward the wall, clearly out of action.

Bill Bradford told himself to stay out of the fight. He was drunk and when he tried to fight when he was drunk, he always took a drubbing. Then it was too late. Two Marines rushed him. He lifted one foot and caught one of them in the belly, driving him into the wall. The other one came through, clubbing him in the shoulder, but then unable to get out of the way of Bradford's right fist, which slammed into the Marine's nose, bringing a spout of blood. Somebody grabbed Bradford from behind, and he jolted his head backward, crashing his skull into the head of the man behind him.

The man bellowed in pain and released Bradford, who spun around and jolted a hard left jab into the civilian's right eye, and then a looping right that hit him on the side of the head and spilled him into a chair next to the wall.

One by one the Marines went down and didn't get up. Another table and a chair crashed into bits and pieces.

Behind the bar, Mac himself blew on his police whistle
until he turned blue, and then gave up. He grabbed the old .45 from the cash drawer, racked in a round, and fired into the wall behind him in a spot where he knew the wall and insulation would corral the bullet. The weapon going off in the bar had no effect on the series of small battles still going on.

He saw the last of the SEALs leave the girls and charge into the battle. Even the guy in the wheelchair tried to swing at a guy. Mac gave up and called the Shore Patrol. Then he called an old friend, Master Chief Gordon MacKenzie.

By the time the Shore Patrol arrived with six armed men and two patrol wagons, some semblance of order had been restored. Mac had bellowed that he'd called the Shore Patrol, and that had cooled off most of the battles. Mahanani had kept punishing the Marine who'd started the whole ruckus, but then Master Chief MacKenzie had come into the bar and scowled at the SEALs.

Five minutes later, a chief petty officer led the Shore Patrol into the bar and looked around. He spotted Master Chief MacKenzie and waved at his men to relax. MacKenzie sat at the bar with a beer. He pointed to a foaming, cold beer in front of an empty stool beside him. The chief walked up and stood looking at MacKenzie.

“Some mess your boys are in here, I'd say, MacKenzie.”

“True, Chief Billbray, but they didn't start the ruckus. Marines did it. Ask Mac. He saw it all.”

“I'll do that.” He pushed down the bar and talked to the owner of the business, then came back, sat on the stool, and sipped at the brew.

“That one big Marine with the black eye and not much of a nose left started it,” the Shore Patrol chief said.

They both sipped at the beer. Nobody said a word in the bar. One Marine groaned, and another one kicked him to quiet down.

“Chief to chief on this one, Billbray?”

“The Shore Patrol chief had another swallow of beer, wiped his mouth, and looked at MacKenzie.

“It's been a while. Your boys have been on their best behavior lately. You get new guidelines, or has the Mormon Church taken over the SEALs' training and operation?”

“Something like that.” MacKenzie waved at Mac, who came sliding down the bar with a wet cloth in one hand.

“Aye?”

“How much for damages, Mac? And lost business, incidentals, and pain and suffering?”

The saloon owner grinned. “Them two tables wasn't much count anyway. Cost me maybe forty bucks to replace them. Actually, business is up tonight. Pain and suffering usually goes at about two million, but I'm easy. Another forty should keep me happy.”

MacKenzie took five twenty-dollar bills from his wallet and pushed them across the bar. “That and a tip for good service.” MacKenzie made a curt motion to the SEALs, and they straightened chairs, picked up a broken glass, and began to move toward the door.

“Oh, Mac. You should start to cultivate the Shore Patrol when they're off duty,” MacKenzie said. “Fine group of lads. Be a favor to me if you could set up a round of beers for these SP lads next time they come in.”

MacB's brows went up. Then he chuckled. “Sure, and I'd be glad to do just that.”

“Chief Billbray, I'd say that I owe you a favor, chief to chief. Yes, I'm in your debt. These are good lads I've got. This platoon just came back from the fighting in Hawaii. Nasty bit out there. I hope you understand.”

Chief Billbray drained the glass and wiped his mouth. “Looks like that one Marine will need some medical attention. The emergency room at the hospital here might do the job. Let my men help him along his way.”

The two chiefs shook hands, and the SEALs drifted out the front door. They forgot Jaybird, who sat in his wheelchair.

Master Chief MacKenzie wheeled him out just as Mahanani came looking for him.

“Sailor, you best get this lad back to Balboa before somebody reports him AWOL,” the chief said. “Hurry on now. I've missed enough sleep already.”

“Yes, Master Chief, right away.”

It took MacKenzie three calls to finally find Murdock at JG DeWitt's home. They talked for five minutes, and then
the master chief hung up. There was a small smile on his face as he headed home.

 

Murdock came away from the phone. Everyone had left the party, and Milly and Ardith were finishing up doing the dishes and putting away the leftovers.

“I'm going to be eating salmon for a week,” DeWitt said. He looked at Murdock. “What did the master chief want?”

“MacB's turned out to be a bad idea. Big fight with eight Marines and some civilians. Shore Patrol showed up and Mac called MacKenzie. They worked it out with the Shore Patrol chief. Your boys will have some split lips and black eyes come working hours tomorrow.”

“Figures. Where you guys going on your vacation?”

“Flagstaff, Arizona. Supposed to be high and cool and interesting.”

“I'll be working. Won't be like the wine country, but I'll make it.”