Starfish Prime (Blackfox Chronicles Book 2) (15 page)

The dead machine gunner’s weapon sat abandoned on its side until SGT Dixon materialized a few seconds later and put the gun into immediate use by sending long bursts of accurate copper jacketed rounds at the enemy. Michael low-crawled forward to act as his assistant gunner, but Dixon threw him his carbine i
nstead. 

Dixon acted with practiced panache, firing tight, well-aimed bursts at enemy muzzle flashes, silencing them and then shifting to the next. He kept mouthing something over and over and M
ichael was just able to make it out: 

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” 

Michael smiled and felt strangely comforted; it was good to know that Dixon was a religious man. The way he was smiting enemies made him seem more like an Archangel. 

Michael followed Dixon’s example―he waited for muzzle flashes to appear and then sent a short three round burst of aut
omatic fire in return until the flash ceased. He knew what should come next―Reigns, if he were still alive, would order them to conduct a hasty assault of the ambush. But Michael was sure that was a bad idea, as their enemy seemed to have accurately anticipated the patrols tactics, and they might be walking into a buzz saw. He had a better idea, but he would need Reigns’ permission to put it into action―flank the bastards from the right side of the hill with Dixon’s machinegun at his side raining plunging fire down on the enemy. 

The grenadiers kept up a regular volley of fire that at least kept the enemy’s heads down. 

Michael yelled to Dixon, “I’m gonna find Reigns!” He hurriedly crawled up the line while bullets whizzed overhead, cutting off pieces of foliage as they passed. He found Murphy tending to a wounded man, checked the face, and saw it was a barely conscious Captain Reigns. His chest was covered in seeping blood, apparently from a sucking chest wounded as evidenced by the sheet of plastic that Murphy was applying. 

“Looks like you’re in charge,” said Murphy.

“Great,” said Michael. Murphy nodded and went back to work. 

Gunnery Sergeant Grimes crawled over to Michael and shouted, “What are your orders?” 

“Hey, Gunny, I’m just the technical help. Got a PC that needs fixing, let me know.”

“Sir, I’m from the old Corps. With Captain Reigns wounded, you’re in command. Now, what are your orders?”

“Keep the enemy’s heads down―I’ll take the grenadiers with me to volley fire on my command. Give me with guy with the M240B, he seems to know what he is doing and we’ll flank these motherfuckers!”

“Do I need to remind you that it’s a grave tactical error to let the commander lead a high-risk mission that might result in his death?” 

“Gunny, I don’t have time to explain it to you. I’ve got half an idea about how to take these assholes out, so you make the call. Either we stay here and die one at a time, or you give me three Marines and we see if we can take the fight to the cock-sucking enemy!”  

Grimes nodded and crawled down the trail as bullets conti
nued to zip overhead. He returned a few minutes later with Dixon and two other Marines. Michael turned towards Grimes.

“Got any grenades?” Grimes handed him two.

“That’s all I have left.”

Michael looked at the three Marines and said, “Let’s go,” as he hurriedly began a low crawl up the line and out of the kill zone.

Michael crawled past him and reached forward to clear what he thought was a tree branch from the trail. He grimaced when he realized it was someone’s severed leg, most likely that of the point man who had belatedly warned them of the ambush. He gingerly moved it from his path, silently vowing that they would ensure the dead would be given proper respect, should they live. He continued crawling until he reached the location of the initial mine, checked the detonator wire, and found that it ran off to the left into the jungle overgrowth―they had walked into a classic L shaped ambush.

Once off the trail and concealed by the foliage, he stood up and ran as quickly as he could for what he reckoned was one quarter of a football field, and then abruptly turned left. Dixon and the Havoc Twins followed closely behind. Michael ran up the hill and almost didn’t realize that the jungle vegetation had given away to blankness―he was rapidly running towards the edge of a cliff! 

He felt someone grab his load-bearing vest and pull him rearward, saving him from plunging to his death. He looked at Dixon and nodded his thanks. The team dropped to the prone and began low-crawling toward the sharp crack made by multiple Russian-designed automatic weapons. Michael continued crawling until he caught sight of the side muzzle flashes from several of the ambusher’s rifles. 

A few minutes later, he spied a head peeking out from behind a sandbag. The fact that they had prepared positions indicated the security of the operation had been badly compromised, but he would deal with that later. The Marines automatically got on line beside Michael, and Dixon took up a hasty firing position for the machine gun. 

Even given the heavy jungle growth, Michael felt he was well within hand grenade range. He withdrew the two Grimes had given him from pockets on his tactical vest as the Havoc Twins raised their grenade launchers to their shoulders. Per prior coordination, he keyed the transmitter on his handheld radio twice and knew he had been received when he heard the team in the kill zone put up a huge volume of automatic weapons fire meant to keep the ambusher’s heads down. 

The Havoc Twins fired a twelve round volley of high expl
osive grenades at the ambushers. As the grenades impacted against the target, Michael quickly threw two hand grenades and followed up with aimed automatic fire from his carbine. Dixon racked the ambushers with a long burst from his gun, effectively raining lethal, copper jacketed hell down on the enemy. If Dixon felt any remorse, it was because he didn’t have a bigger machine gun. 

Fourteen high fragmentation explosives impacted against the ambushers. Michael keyed his handset three times, indicating that Grimes should cease fire. He and his fellow Marines then co
nducted a hasty assault of the objective. They stopped and surveyed the carnage they had wreaked, initially shocked by the extent of the injuries―it appeared no one had survived the final assault. Bodies and parts of bodies were strewn haphazardly about the battlefield, which was still clouded with the smoke from cordite and Composition B. Dixon stood quietly for a moment and then spoke. “And the Angel of Death arrived and

Hell followed with him.”  “Find me someone who’s still breat
hing,” ordered Michael. He did this not out of any desire to keep them from slaughtering the wounded—these guys were professional enough to avoid that—but because he had a lot of questions for someone. 

Vicinity of
Pintad
o
 

The counter ambush had been wildly successful. Michael felt relieved and happy to be alive, having bested his enemy in combat. They counted thirteen dead and two left breathing, but both just barely. He checked the enemy wounded. One had multiple wounds around the head and chest and was still breathing, albeit shallowly. The other was missing a leg. 

“Doc Murphy up,” Michael spoke into the mike on his hea
dset, summoning the Corpsman to the location of their assault objective.

“I’ll go get him,” said Jamie Olsten. The dead were all dressed in camouflage utilities composed of dark brown, dark olive green, and russet stripes on a pale green background. 

Dixon found a string of five claymore mines set in a line along the Marine’s most likely avenue of approach. Had they decided on a frontal assault to thwart the ambush, the assault force would have been met by a wall of double-aught buckshot. The enemy had dug a trench line on the reverse slope of the mountain and had significant time to prepare the defenses as evidenced by the placement of sandbags and anti-personnel mines. 

Murphy arrived visibly agitated. “I’ve got wounded Marines to attend to, what do you want me to do here?”

Michael grabbed his arm and led him to the ambusher who’d had his leg amputated by one of the grenades. 

“Keep this bastard alive until we can ask him a few que
stions, replied Blackfox. I want to know who they are.”

“I can tell you that. They’re wearing old style
South

African uniforms,” commented Murphy. 

Michael looked at the man, “How do you know?”

“Before we moved to Boston, my family lived on a cattle ranch in
Upington, South Africa. My uncle wore a uniform like that. He was Thirty-second Battalion and fought in the Border

War.”

The diversity of the Marine Corps never ceased to amaze Michael. He once served alongside a former Russian soldier who had also served as a Legionnaire in the French Foreign Legion.

“Now, can I go?  I’ve got American casualties to attend to.”

“Come on, Murph, you know the drill―the most seriously wounded gets seen first, regardless of whether they’re friendly or enemy.” Murphy nodded and made a cursory inspection of the two enemy wounded. 

“The head and chest case is a goner. I’ll get to work on the amputee.” 

Grimes appeared, quickly organized a hasty perimeter around the site, and called the radio operator over to call in situation and personnel casualty reports. Although they had sustained significant casualties, Grimes felt both ecstatic and relieved the enemy that ambushed them had been eviscerated. He dutifully began reporting the amount of friendly KIAs and WIAs to the battle captain when he heard the unmistakable, gruff voice of Colonel Hearth on the line.

“Where is Charlie Two Five Actual?” 

“He’s wounded sir.” 

“Who’s in command?” 

“Captain Blackfox,” replied Grimes. 

“Belay that, he is not in command. He is nothing more than technical support.”

“Sir, with all due respect, we have bigger problems than that; we’ve suffered three KIAs, our Team Chief among them and an equal number of wounded. Captain Blackfox’s actions resulted in defeating the ambush; otherwise, you’d be talking to a ghost.”

Gunny Grimes waited. He was dammed if he would have some rear echelon chump Monday morning quarterback him. After a long pause that caused Grimes to think they had lost contact, he heard the colonel say, “All right, let me talk with him.” “CO up,” called Gunny Grimes.

“Charlie Two Five Actual, go,” replied Michael. 

“Charlie Two Five Actual, this is Charlie One Three Actual.

You are ordered to evacuate with your casualties to checkpoint

Alpha Three for extraction.”  “
I won’t do that, sir,” replied Michael.  “Listen to me, Blackfox, the mission has been compromised. You have lost the element of surprise and the critical elements necessary to carry it out,” replied the colonel. 

“Sir, I’ll make sure the wounded are evacuated, but I feel we have the assets necessary to see this mission through.” 

“You’re done, Blackfox; I’m relieving you of command.” 

“Sorry, sir, but you’re not a commander, nor are you in my chain of command. I assumed command because I am the senior ranking Marine on site. Therefore, only the general can relieve me.”

“You stand by, Blackfox. I will be getting the general on line directly,” screamed Colonel Hearth. 

“Yes, sir.
In the meantime, we have casualties that need evacuation. I need to call in a medevac.”

“Negative, Charlie Two Five, you will need to move the casualties back across the border for evacuation,” said Colonel Hearth. 

Michael cursed under his breath, knowing that Heath’s career risk management superseded Michael’s need to evacuate the wounded. 

“Aye, aye, sir, said Michael, hoping to placate the careerist in order to save what was left of his men.  Can you put the
Host

Nation Liaison on the line?” 

Hearth started to ask why, then caught himself. If the Colombians wanted to arrange a medevac, it would be on them and hence none of his concern.  If Blackfox’s friend could make that happen, he wasn’t going to stand in the way, but he was not about to risk more assets on a situation that needed to have plausible deniability written all over it. 

“Ramos, Captain Blackfox is on the line. See if you can help him out,” said Colonel Hearth as he held the mike in the air.

“Hey Bro, how you doing?”

“I’ve had better days. We’ve got multiple wounded that need immediate
evac. Can you help us out?” 

“That depends. How close can you get to the
Ventuari

River?”

“We’re about two klicks away,” answered Michael.

“Remember Villegas? He had dinner with us at the Naval Club in Cartagena. He is the commander of the Marine Company at Poyare until they replace him so he can attend the Marine Special Ops Course. If you can get to the river, I will see if he is willing to come and get you.” 

“Dude, we’re in another country,” said Michael incredulou
sly. Marcos laughed, remembering the movie Stripes that every member of Michael’s Recon Company had memorized by watching it endlessly during their deployment to Iraq. 

“C'mon, it's Venezuela. We zip in, we pick '
em up, we zip right out again. We're not going to Moscow. It’s like we're going into Wisconsin.” 

Ramos passed the handset back to the on duty Battle Captain, Lieutenant Colonel Freeman. He looked at Ramos and then spoke into the microphone. 

“I hope you both know what you’re doing. I got my ass kicked in Wisconsin once.”