Authors: Keith Douglass
“Maybe I’ll pick up a million-dollar wound, and not be
able to get back in the outfit. Do you know that we lose fourteen men washed out of the SEALs for medical reasons for every man who gets killed? So the odds are …”
She smothered his mouth with her own, and didn’t move until they both had to breathe.
“Now we talk about things more pleasant. I’d guess you’ll be working tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“Could you give me a guided tour of your office, your training area?”
“Oh, boy. We usually don’t do that … I mean it’s not secret or anything. I’d have to get a pass for you from the NAVSPECWAR headquarters. I have planned an all-day exercise for the platoon …”
“All right, I understand. Damnit, that’s the trouble, I really do understand.”
He kissed her.
“I’ll be at your command after five tomorrow afternoon. We can have a picnic on the beach, take a hot air balloon ride, go play at Sea World, make crazy faces at the animals at the San Diego Zoo. Or we can cuddle up in my place while I fix dinner, and then we could have a long, relaxing evening before we have a long, sexy night.”
She grinned, and tickled him under the chin. He pulled away from her.
“You remembered that.”
“Lieutenant, I remember everything I know or read or discovered about you. Especially that little strange noise you make just before you explode when we’re making love. It’s delightful, and then I know what’s coming, and …”
She stopped, and they watched each other.
“Hey, I’d like to vote we go to my place tomorrow. When do you head back to Nutsville?”
“Day after tomorrow on the eight-fifteen a.m. American.”
“Oh, damn.”
“True.”
“What time is it?” he asked.
“It’s oh-one-hundred-fifteen, as you Navy types say.”
“How about a late-night sandwich, and some champagne? I understand the kitchen is open all night here.”
“Yeah, let’s give it a try. I want a crab salad sandwich on toasted dill rye, with a pair of kosher dills.”
“Crazy lady, you’re on.”
The sandwiches were delicious.
The champagne bubbling.
The rest of the night a delight.
20
Guns Franklin and Joe Douglas pushed up another ridge in the middle of an unending series of hills that all worked upward toward the saddle mountain.
“How many more of the fucking hills are we going to have to climb to get there?” Franklin brayed.
The chogie straps due deeply into their shoulders now as the strain of the sixty pounds of food, water, and ammunition bore down. Douglas went to his knees in the rocky soil a hundred yards from the top of the ridge, then sat down and lay back against the heavy pack.
“Oh, damn but that feels good,” he shouted. “So fucking good I could shoot my wad right here.”
“Strange what turns some guys on,” Franklin said, doing the same drop, sit, and roll motion to get the weight of the pack off his shoulders.
“What day is this?” Franklin asked.
“How the hell should I know? What am I your fucking walking calendar?”
“You should be. I don’t even remember when we dropped
into this garden of plenty. I still say we’ll get to the saddle before daylight.”
“Hell no. You’ll owe me that case of German beer when we get back to civilization.”
“We’re on the last ridge. When we get to the top of this, the next slant up will be the saddle mountain.”
“That’s what you told me the last two ridges, hotshot.”
“You’ll see, Guns. Let’s move it.”
They rolled over, lifting the packs off the ground and getting to their knees, then pushed upright with a pair of groans.
“I still say three hundred pounds is too much to expect even a SEAL to carry on his back,” Franklin said.
They hiked upward.
The last few yards they had to use their hands on the steep slope to get to the top. Franklin made it to the ridgeline first. He stopped, and stared.
“I’ll be fucked on Friday. There the big bastard is.”
Douglas got there a moment later and he grinned. Even in the darkness, they could tell that there were no more ridges between them and Saddle Mountain. They could see only one peak, but this had to be it. The other half of the mountain was behind the one they could see.
They had a fifty-yard slope down the ridge, before the longer slant upward to the saddle mountain began.
“An hour to the top,” Douglas said. “It’s now oh-four-twenty. The sun shouldn’t be up until about oh-six-hundred. Plenty of time for you to owe me that case of good American beer.”
“If we make it, it’ll be worth it.” Franklin shrugged, and began the slower move down the slope.
They struggled up the last rise to the side of the saddle mountain. They weren’t going all the way to the top. They quartered around the mountain peak, and within another half hour saw the saddle opening spread out before them. Through the saddle to the north they saw the glow of what
could only be electric lights. In this starkly dark countryside, they stood out like beacons.
“Jackpot!” Douglas screeched. “Look at those shit-kicking lights. We’ve found the nuke plant sure as little green apples get riper in the summertime.”
Franklin couldn’t suppress a grin. “Hey, yeah. Looks like it could be. We need to get to the far side of the saddle—what, a half mile. Then we’ll have a better look. Why in hell didn’t we bring a twenty-power scope with us?”
They hiked again.
The comparative flat bowel of the saddle was either part of a huge volcanic eruption, or just neutral ground between two volcanic peaks. Douglas didn’t worry about it too much. The nearness of their objective pushed him forward. The straps cutting into their shoulders didn’t hurt so much either. As he moved, Douglas wondered if the saddle would be a good drop spot for the rest of the platoon. Depended how far it was on to the big factory. It could still be ten miles away.
Dawn crept up on them, and before they realized it, the sun peaked over the far hills. They were in the open here, and with daylight they thought of their own security.
“What happens if one of them spotter planes flies over?” Franklin asked.
“We go prone and stay as still as an ant. Movement is what the spotters watch for. If we stay quiet, they’d have to be right over us at a thousand feet to pick us out.”
Another twenty minutes, and they came to the edge of the saddle bowl and stared across to where they had seen the lights. They saw only a haze, with a bluish tinge that could have been from ground fog, or smoke.
“Why would there be smoke up here in the hills?” Franklin asked.
“We didn’t see any power lines coming in anywhere. They’d need lots of power up here. Maybe they have a huge oil- or coal-burning electrical generating plant.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
They stood there a minute staring at the place where the Iranian nuclear plant could be. Gradually the mists or smoke began to lift.
“Yeah, clearing up,” Douglas said. “Shouldn’t take long. If it’s what we think we can have the old SATCOM up and working in five minutes.”
They waited.
The mixture ahead of them turned out to be half smoke, half some kind of ground fog. The smoke showed prominently when the fog was burned away by the bright sun. Smoke was to the right of the rest of what they could now see.
“Damn it to hell on Sunday, look at that,” Franklin said. “Big bunch of buildings with camouflage all over them. No wonder the satellites couldn’t find them. Got to be the fucking nuke plant.”
“Yep, I think we’ve found the nuker. Let’s get to some kind of protection or cover, and we’ll get the SATCOM set up.”
They found a spot near the edge of the half-mile-long saddle. It had almost no vegetation—some low grasses and a shrub here and there. The place they picked was near a boulder that screened them from the nuke plant and gave off some deep shade from the already burning sun. Douglas set up the SATCOM and aligned it with the satellite high overhead.
He took the cellular phone-sized instrument out of his pack and pulled open an eight-inch antenna. It was the MUGR, or the mugger, as the SEALs called it—the Miniature Underwater GPS Receiver. This was a modified version for land use, with a pull-out antenna instead of a floating one that went to the surface.
Douglas turned it on and the antenna began searching for the four closest Global Positioning Satellites. The MUGR picked up the satellite’s positions, and with quadra-angulation, pinpointed the location of the MUGR to within ten feet.
After a few seconds the small device beeped and the screen showed a readout of longitude and latitude.
With that data in hand, Douglas composed his message on the SATCOM screen.
“Found it. About five klicks due north of this position.” He then put in the longitude and latitude the mugger gave. “This position good for LZ. Outside of their major security area. No positive ID but nothing else up here but snakes, desert mountains, and scorpions. Will stay in on-mode for your response.”
He read over the message, made a small change, then hit the send button that automatically encrypted the words, and blasted them out of the set toward the communications satellite in a burst that lasted only a fraction of a second. He left the set turned on and sat down on the sand, moving into a patch of shade near the rock.
“So now we watch and wait?” Franklin asked.
“Have a nap if you want to. We wait for a reply.”
A helicopter lifted up from the side of the saddle and raced to within a hundred yards of their position before it paused, then climbed to more than a thousand feet off the saddle, and hovered.
“Don’t move,” Douglas said. “If we move he’ll spot us for damn sure.”
“Least we have on these damn brown-and-beige Iranian clothes, and we’re in the shadows,” Franklin said.
They watched the Iranian chopper. Douglas didn’t know what make it was, but he did see a machine gun angled out the side door. He’d heard about door gunners from the Viet Nam vets and knew they could be deadly.
The chopper made a slow circle over the saddle. When it was at the farthest end, about a half mile away, the two SEALs draped themselves with spare beige shirts, so they covered their faces, weapons, and the twelve-inch-diameter SATCOM antenna.
They heard the helicopter swing back toward them. It was now higher, Douglas could tell by the sound.
“They must check this area routinely as part of their security,” he said. “Might not be such a good LZ after all.”
“Best in the whole damn place I’ve seen. Shit, we get the platoon in here on a night drop, and we can fade into the gullies on both sides before daylight. Even if they patrol this area every day, they wouldn’t find a trace.”
“Yeah, hope so.”
They heard the chopper make one more circle search. Douglas checked out from the cover, and saw the bird much higher now. A minute later it flew off to the north working lower, and out of sight.
When he took the shirt off his face, Douglas saw the SATCOM light pulsing.
“Incoming message,” he said.
He turned another switch, and a voice came on the small speaker.
“Douglas. Received. Now plotting out your position. Stay out of sight. Will get Murdock in gear immediately. Shooting for a drop there within thirty-eight hours. Second dark from now. Hole up. Stay out of sight. Good work. Stroh.”
The message repeated three times. When it stopped, Douglas sent a two-word reply: “Douglas, Roger.”
“So, we hole up. Exactly where?” Franklin scowled.
“Just off the side somewhere, and on the shade side,” Douglas said.
They found their spot an hour later. It was a gully that evidently drained water from the flat top of the saddle whenever there was a downpour. The rocky ground wouldn’t soak up much of a cloudburst.
The water had dug out a respectable gully, leaving some sharp edges. At one place a small waterfall must have formed and resulted in a fairly flat place below it. It was on the shady side. They unloaded their packs and found room enough for both of them to stretch out.
First came food. They couldn’t risk a fire. While there might not be much smoke, the smell would slide downwind like a beacon for anyone on foot in the area. Instead they ate some of the freeze-dried foods, much like the familiar MRIs. They had plenty of water.
“That would make their drop in here not tonight, but tomorrow night,” Douglas said. “Means we have two days and a night to get through. I wonder how much of that I can sleep.”
Franklin snorted. “Hell, Douglas, knowing you, I’d say you can sack out for about ninety percent of the time. Go ahead. I’ll take the first watch. Not much to see. We can spot anyone coming up the gully for half a mile. If they drop troops on the saddle up on top we’ll hear them. So, we’ve got nothing to worry about. Sack out. I’m going to try one more of these freeze-dried pastrami cakes.”
21
Lieutenant DeWitt awoke slowly.
Something was clanging, like a police car in England.
No, more like an ambulance in France.
Oh, damn, the phone. He sat up, fully awake now. He grabbed the instrument and glared at it.
“Yeah, what the hell do you want?”
“Well, good morning to you, too, Lieutenant DeWitt. I know it’s about three-thirty in the morning out there in Lotus Land, but some of us have been working all night back here in D.C.”
“Stroh? Don Stroh?”
“Damn, you still remember me. I can’t get hold of your boss. He unplug his phone or something?”
“Why would he do that?” DeWitt asked.
“I don’t know, why?”
“Oh, yeah. The good Lieutenant was, shall we say, busy tonight with his friend from D.C.”
“So if he unplugged the phone, I’d still get a ring on that end?”
“Right, the phone rings, but the ring you hear comes from the switching station here in town.”
“Thanks for the intel. Hey, we’re in business. Just got word about six hours ago that we have the exact location of the picnic grounds we were looking for. We did some tail twisting, and got the final okay to move out. You have travel orders for as soon as possible. No later than sixteen hundred today. Your headquarters there has a fax on it now, and will get a phone call later. You better roust your crew out for an early call, and get cracking. You’ll take all the goodies you expect to use.”