Deathrace (26 page)

The officers saluted. The General didn’t bother to return the salute. He edged closer to the flames. They were dying down now. Most of the building was indeed gone. There were only partial walls in places, no roof at all. The concrete floor of the large building seemed to be the only thing left intact.

Gone.

All six of his wonderful nuclear bombs were gone.

He would have to start over. Build a new assembly building. Buy the hard-to-find plutonium and the tritium, and do all of the delicate machine tooling. Again.

He paled then, thinking about the promises he had made to certain of his confidants. Within two months they would have six nuclear bombs. He had promised them that as an absolute, and the last of the huge amount of money had been designated for him.

Could he win them over for more money now that this setback had wiped out any possibility of getting the weapons in the near future? He figured it would take two years, even with the start they had with the facilities, and the experienced men doing the work. Two years. He shivered. Pursuit.

He must find out where the attackers left the facility, and send every man he had chasing after them. Yes, that much
he could do. He had two hundred regulars here, well-trained fighting men, some with combat experience.

He hurried back to the car.

“To my headquarters, quickly.”

When he walked in, the facility commander and his top three men stood waiting for him.

“General Ruhollah, we were attacked.”

“I’m well aware of that. Where did the force come in? Where did it leave the wire? Did they leave any dead behind?”

“General, they came in through a hole they cut in the wire about midway along the west fence. They shot out the lights on both sides, after they launched a diversion attack to the far end of the complex. They shot down our helicopter. We have found where they exited, near the southern end of the wire, where a fence closed off a construction road that led south to the rock quarry.”

“Idiots, have you sent troops after them?”

“No, General.”

“Send fifty heavily armed guards at once. The best men you have. Is there another helicopter?”

“No, General. We have one at Chah Bahar, but it was ordered to remain there.”

“Phone now, get it up here at first light.”

The Colonel in charge of the facility had been pointing at officers, and rushing them out of the room for each assignment.

“Now, Colonel, I am horrified at your security arrangements. You have set our program back by at least two years. You will be brought up on charges of high treason. Consider yourself under house arrest. Who is your second in command?”

“Sir, that would be me.” A Major stepped forward and saluted.

“You, too, will be up on charges. Depending on how well you clean up the rubble of the assembly building, and
reconstruct it, then bring in the required new machinery, equipment, and supplies that are needed, then we will see how severe your penalty will be. Be sure those troops chasing the attackers have orders to kill all of the bastards.”

General Ruhollah waved them all out of the room. His aide came in with a fresh pot of special Turkish coffee that he loved. He sat down at the desk and began making plans. All of the troups on the facility would be sent out at first light. They would scour a swath two miles wide. Where would the attackers go?

If they were Arab, they might go east into Pakistan. If they were from the Western whore-mongering nations, they would try to go straight south to the Gulf of Oman and escape to some ship, perhaps even a submarine.

He would send troops both directions. The southern route was the more reasonable. However they were less than thirty miles to Pakistan, and more than fifty miles to the gulf. He would call Tehran at once and order the largest plane that could land at the dirt strip at Chah Bahar to bring in paratroopers. He would fly six more helicopters, gunships with door machine guns. He would alert the MiG jet fighters at Shiraz to fly over the area, watching for any movement on the ground, and to prevent any type of air rescue of the force.

How many men did the raiders use? He had no idea. Fifty men, perhaps less. It was a hit-and-run attack. He could have done it with a dozen good men.

The headache came again, grinding, stabbing, make him shut his eyes and hold his head. He needed relief. How in this boil on the butt of the devil could he find what he needed?

Slowly he sat down and picked up the phone. He had to make the calls, to get the troops and planes coming this direction. Time was the big factor now. He would have to show that he had slaughtered the squads of men who destroyed the nuclear bombs. That was the minimum he
would need to do to convince his secret cabal of supporters that he must have more money, that they must make another effort to build their own nuclear bombs. It was the only way that Iran could take its proper place as the major world power that ruled all of the Mid Eastern Arabs. Yes, it must be done.

26

Murdock moved his SEALs along at six miles an hour for the first quarter mile, then Doc Ellsworth caught up with him.

“Skipper, Magic can’t stand the pace. Better cut it down to four mph or we’ll be carrying the big guy.”

“It’s that bad?”

“It is. I’d give him a week of bed rest if I could.”

“Stay with him. Have him give the fifty, and the ammo he has left, to somebody else.”

“Will do, L-T.”

Murdock slowed the pace to what he knew was a mile every fifteen minutes. After another ten minutes he called a halt.

“Check things out. Arrange your gear. Take a quick break. Holt, unpack that radio and let’s give it a shot.”

Three minutes later, Murdock had his message typed out on the screen. He read it again. “Bankrupt, the word is bankrupt. All is well, coming home. Murdock.”

He pushed the send button and the machine encrypted the
message and shot it out in a burst that transmitted for only a tenth of a second. Bankrupt was the code word meaning the plant, and the bombs, had all been totally destroyed.

“Wait for a response?” Holt asked.

“Give them two minutes, then we’re moving.”

No response came. Murdock had checked his men. Ed DeWitt had done the same. Magic Brown was hurting. He was going to cost them a lot of time before they got wet.

They had heard no response from the nuclear plant. There had been no sound of any troops following them the first half mile. Now they had wound over and around hills, and any sound of pursuit would be hushed.

They marched out again.

Murdock dropped back beside Kat.

“How’s it going?”

“Fine. Remember I can out-hike, outrun, out-swim any of your guys. Don’t worry about me. I am aware that I haven’t fired a shot in anger yet, and I’m still packing this twenty pounds of armament and ammo.”

“Hey, maybe it’s seven pounds, plus another six for ammo. You’re lucky.” He paused and watched her in the darkness. “You want to be in a firefight?”

“Not sure, but in the next fifty miles, I’d say it’s more than likely that I’ll find out. Right?”

“Right. Remember the damned safety.” He grinned, and went back to lead the platoon just in back of the scout.

They worked down a slope, and then along a valley for another mile. Murdock checked with Lampedusa. He had a sense about direction, and the best compass in the outfit.

“We’re working a little southeast, but I correct every chance I get,” Lam said. “This valley looked too damn tempting to pass up.”

“I agree. Magic is hurting, that’s why we slowed it down. Keep no more than a hundred yards out front.”

They hiked on over the barren, rocky hills and gullies, down occasional valleys, and then up slopes again.

Murdock knew they were leaving a trail. Seventeen people couldn’t move across this land and not leave a path any child could follow.

They made two more miles.

Murdock thought he heard someone behind them in one long valley. He sent Jaybird Sterling back as a rear guard.

“Just hold here for ten minutes, then come along slowly. If you hear or see anything behind us, shag ass up front, and let us know.”

Jaybird nodded and began walking to the rear. Murdock grinned, and went back to the front of the column.

Magic Brown’s leg was worse. He walked with a decided limp now and had shucked off all of his equipment, including the combat vest. It was all he could do to keep up at a three-miles-an-hour pace. That meant anyone following them must be gaining.

Murdock turned the problem over in his mind again. Not much they could do to speed up Magic. What they had to do was slow down anyone coming behind them.

He watched the landscape. Lam had them leave a narrow gorge and angle over a sharp hill. Just as they topped it, Murdock had what he wanted. He told Lam to get all the men over the ridgeline, and then hold them. He waited for Jaybird to come.

“Got company all right, L-T. Guess they are about two miles behind us. Can’t be sure, but it could be forty or fifty men, maybe more.”

“Get Adams up here. Let’s have a welcome-home party for our Iranian hosts. Get two of those Claymore mines we brought. Have Adams set them on trip wires about a third of the way up the slope. Put two of them in sequence and aim the blasts to go downhill. Then get your asses back up here.”

Murdock told the rest of them the plan and had them spread out along the ridgeline just over the top on the reverse slope. As soon as the mines went off, the whole platoon
would fire into the same area, hoping to waste anyone left standing.

Murdock settled down beside Kat. She had her MP-5 up and ready.

“This is good for fifty yards with the silencer,” Kat said. “Why don’t we take the silencers off? No need for quiet out here.”

“Good idea.” He sent word on the Motorola to have half the men with MP-5’s remove the silencer and put them in their packs.

Murdock checked his watch. It was after 0120. A long time to daylight.

They waited.

For a moment, Murdock caught the sound of equipment jangling. That had to come from the Iranians.

Jaybird and Al Adams rolled over the ridge, and found places along the shooting line.

“All set, L-T,” Jaybird reported.

“We all fire when the second Claymore goes off,” Murdock said. “Don’t wait for me. Fire on that second blast.”

Five minutes later they could hear some talk from below.

A cough.

Then someone called out in Farsi.

“Said something about hurry up, too slow,” Franklin reported.

Two minutes more.

The Iranian hillside blossomed with a jagged red-and-yellow light and a rolling, cracking explosion as the first Claymore detonated. The flash of light faded in a few seconds, but the shrill cries of pain and desperation echoed up the hill. The sound of the first explosion had almost faded when the second blast tore through the night.

A half second later sixteen weapons fired down the slope. Murdock had his MP-5 set on three rounds and the silencer off. He chattered out six rounds and looked over at Kat.

She held the weapon tightly, stared down the sights, and at last squeezed the trigger. It spat out three rounds. She nodded, moved the muzzle slightly, and fired again. Then Murdock went back to his own weapon and emptied one magazine, before he hit his mike three times, ending the shooting.

“We moving down there?” DeWitt asked.

“No,” Murdock said, making up his mind in a nanosecond. “Let’s saddle up and get out of here. Lam out front. Come on, move. Some of the survivors might still come after us.” The platoon heard the order on their radios, and quickly moved down the hill, away from the slaughter, half expecting some return fire from survivors who would work their way up the hill and fire blindly in revenge.

After a half mile, they figured no one was going to shoot back at them.

“An even bet that they will wait for dawn, and count up their casualties, then try to get their wounded back to the nuke plant,” Murdock said on the radio. “Meantime we make tracks until dawn ourselves, then figure out what to do.”

Murdock checked on Magic. He was still walking, but his left arm was over Horse Ronson’s shoulder.

“Hell, we can keep up with you Boy Scouts,” Magic said. But Murdock heard the voice nearly crack. There was none of the usual bluster the big black man was so good at projecting.

They kept walking.

At 0300, Murdock called a break.

Doc changed the bandage on Magic’s left leg. He shook his head. It was still bleeding. He put a heavy pressure pad over the wound and wrapped it tightly. The bleeding stopped. He checked his watch. Too soon for another morphine shot.

By the time Doc finished binding up Magic’s leg, he had dropped off to sleep. Doc went to Murdock.

“Can we give Magic an hour to sleep? He went out like a baby. He’s damn weak, L-T.”

“We’ve got two hours to dawn. He can sleep then. Let him have a half hour, then we get out of here. We’ve got to find a spot to hole up for the daylight hours.”

Murdock had Douglas come up front.

“You said you saw a high-wing Piper Cub-type spotter plane. There wasn’t any place I saw near the bomb plant where they could land one. Did it come up from Chah Bahar?”

“My guess is that they have a small dirt strip somewhere in back of the plant. You can land those things on two hundred yards, sometimes less. A bulldozer and two days would scrape out a workable landing field.”

“So, it will be in the air at first light. We need to be dug in somewhere. Thanks, Douglas. You and Franklin did an outstanding job going into Tehran. Have to tell me sometime how you got fifteen hundred miles down here.”

Douglas waved, and went back to his spot in the Second Squad formation.

They called a halt at 0530. It wasn’t dawn yet. Lampedusa had found a craggy little canyon with lots of twists and turns and places where the cloudbursts had sent torrents down the place, carving out holes, sharp edges, and sinks.

“Just like before,” Murdock said on the Motorola. “Find yourself a hole and crawl in. Have your camo cloth ready to cover up for the spotter plane. Anybody have any trouble, give a yell.”