Seal Team Seven #19: Field of Fire (16 page)

“Where are the students?” Murdock asked.

Stroh pulled out a map he’d wrangled from the ship’s library and spread it out. It showed just the northern half of Israel, parts of Lebanon, the Golan Heights, some of Syria, and Jordan. Stroh moved the map for better light and stabbed his finger on the paper.

“Right about here is where the last chat room conversation was made. We don’t know if they are still there, if they are hiding, or if they have been captured by the Syrians. This little place is off the main north-south road and is called Zefat.”

“Does the ship’s captain know about this problem?” Murdock asked.

“He does. He got a redline transmission from the CNO giving us carte blanche. He’s not pleased but it isn’t often he gets orders directly from the CNO and he’ll give us anything we need and help in any way he can. Oh, did I mention that one of the missing girls is the daughter of a U.S. senator, and one of the boys is the son of the most famous rabbi in New York City?”

“Timing?”

“ASAP.”

“The rest of the SEALs?”

“They are on the way. The CNO said we might need more than six. You can’t wait for them. I know you just came back from an operation on the pulse bomb factory. Good work there. That was yesterday, which is the SEALs’ traditionally easy day. It’s now about sixteen-hundred.
Can you be ready to go in at first dark?”

Murdock looked at him and was not at all surprised. “Tonight?

“Tonight. The ship’s CO figures you can chopper in with a sixty. They’ll take everything out of it they can and won’t have any torpedoes, which should help the speed and load factor.”

“Do we get to keep the chopper there while we find the kids?” Lam asked.

“That’s a negative. The bird will drop you and fly. Too dangerous keeping the chopper in enemy territory. He’ll be close by there south in Israel, and will come get you when you call him on your SATCOM. But we’re talking maybe ten to twenty miles. Remember these are tiny little countries over here.”

“At least he won’t be all the way out to the ship.”

“We’ll need resupply on ammo and materials, first-aid kits, some field chow,” Bradford said.

“No problem,” Stroh answered. “You’ve established that the standard twenty-millimeter cannon round will fire in your Bull Pups. You just don’t get the airburst. You can have all of the local twenties you can carry.”

“Let’s get our heads together and work out a supply list,” Murdock said.

“I’ll be happy to take it to the captain. We should have more than three hours before liftoff. I’ll get some special chow set up for you. Steak is always good before a mission.”

Murdock gathered the men around and Jaybird wrote out the shopping list. Murdock realized it was mostly ammo and first aid and field rations. Then he worked over the equipment of each man and would replace anything needed from the Marine detachment on board.

By 1830 they were ready and digesting their T-bone steaks.

“Those steaks came right out of the officers’ mess supplies,” Stroh said. “Evidently the captain wants to keep the CNO happy. It’s always good to have friends in high places.”

The SH-60 Seahawk on the aft chopper pad was
warmed up and ready to go when the SEALs filed up to it ten minutes before liftoff time. The pilot waved at them and ushered them on board.

“Howdy. I’m Lieutenant Wilson,” the pilot said. “Good to meet you. I’ve never had a flight before where the CNO issued the orders. Pretty high level for me. You can contact me on TAC two once I drop you off. We’ll be going in below the fighting in Israeli territory and then up to that little town. Cut down our time over enemy territory. Then I ram it back south just past the fighting and find a hiding spot until you call me back in.” He frowned for a minute. “We’ve stripped her bare of everything we could. Just hope we don’t have too big a load with sixteen bodies.”

Murdock took the lieutenant’s hand. “Lieutenant Commander Murdock. Some of these college girls might not weigh over a hundred and ten pounds,” Murdock said. “That will help. We’ve had bad luck lately on pickups by choppers. I hope this time we don’t have any foul-ups.”

“Going down like clockwork, Commander. Let’s button her up and get out of here.”

The flight from the cruiser to Israel, across the area just north of Haifa, and then ten miles north took only thirty-three minutes at a hundred and forty-five miles an hour, the cruising speed of the SH-60 chopper. They had skimmed over the ground, sometimes only fifty feet above the landmass. This had been over land controlled by the Israelis. Now almost at the far eastern border of Israel, the chopper turned north.

“We have to get across the area where they are fighting,” Lieutenant Wilson said. “Never flown over an MLR before. There should be some firefights or something to let us know where it is. We can go low and fast over it, giving any of the Syrians only a few seconds to shoot at us, or high and slower. I pick the low and fast run. Hey, up there, I just saw a flare. There, some tracers. We’re going down on the brush tops and race across. Coming up fast.”

Murdock watched as the bird slammed forward at full speed. It looked faster twenty feet off the turf. Murdock
saw the outlines of a trench and what he was sure were a half dozen muzzle blast flashes, then they were past them and in the clear and in Syrian occupied territory.

The pilot slanted to the east a little and found the outline of the road north and followed it along the Golan Heights. Four or five miles later a road angled off to the left and they took it and found the small town showing a lot of lights.

“Zefat?” Murdock asked.

“Should be. It’s the only village of any size around here according to our maps. It has lots of growing fields around it.”

Murdock watched from the cockpit.

“I’ll set down just south of the place about a mile. Then maybe they won’t hear my bird. Check your SATCOM as soon as you can on TAC two. I’ll be moving south about fifteen miles back across the MLR.”

Murdock nodded. He went back to the side door and was the first man off as the SH-60 settled gently to the ground. The SEALs charged away from the LZ and headed for a small patch of woods just to the left. There they paused while Bradford angled the foldout antenna, caught the satellite, and gave the mike to Murdock.

“This is Search One calling Skyhook.”

“Yes, Search One. Skyhook and you’re five by five. Good luck.”

Bradford folded the antenna on the last syllable, and stuffed it in the pouch and hurried after the other SEALs, who had started toward the town.

“From talk by this girl before, we know that the kibbutz is south and west from the town itself about a mile. We’re south enough, let’s move a little more west and see if we can spot any buildings in this gloom. We sure could use a full moon about now.”

“Let’s not wait,” Rafii said. “No full moon for another three weeks.”

They hiked single file ten yards apart across a field, then over a road, and angled more west. After a half mile, Lam used his Motorola. “I’ve got buildings ahead. Looks like a farm with barracks. Could be the kibbutz.”

Murdock hurried up to Lam and studied the place with his binoculars. “Still a few lights on in the long buildings. Could be barracks. Let’s go up softly and take a look.”

The SEALs moved forward without a sound. Lam sprinted to the side of the first long, one-story building and looked in a lighted window. He dropped down and used the radio.

“Only three men in the place. All are wearing uniforms. Syrian soldiers. I’ll check the house.”

He was gone another ten minutes. Then his voice came over the earpieces.

“Yes, this was the place. I have with me Mr. Benazar. He runs the farm. He wants to talk. We’ll come back to your position.”

Leor Benazar was over seventy, stooped, with a weathered face, pure white hair, and hands as rough as corncobs. He shook Murdock’s hand.

“The bastards swept in here so fast we didn’t even know they were coming. We were still trying to figure out what went wrong with our telephone and electricity and our computers. Then they were shooting at us before breakfast and we tried to get to our weapons but we were way too late. They killed one of my farmhands and wounded one of the kids. One of your boys. Shot him in the shoulder. We patched him up best we could. Then before noon they hustled your ten Americans in a truck and hauled them away. I speak pretty good Arabic and I heard a sergeant tell the truck driver to take them to the police station in town. I don’t know if they got there or are still there.”

“How do we find the police station?”

“It’s on the main street, right across from the synagogue. There’s a filling station beside it.”

“How far from here?”

“About two miles. Want a ride? You’re not Israeli.”

“No, sir. We’re U.S. Navy SEALs.”

“I thought they were frogmen.”

“We are, but we also work on land and parachute in. That ride would be good, if it won’t get you in trouble.”

“These damned Syrians aren’t going to be around long
enough to give us much trouble. And I see that I’ll be well protected.”

The kibbutz manager had a nearly new pickup the SEALs jumped into, and he drove them to within a block of the center of town. They saw only two Syrians, both standing guard near a grocery store.

The SEALs bailed out of the pickup, quietly thanked Benazar, and melted into the shadows.

“We’re about a block and a half from the police station,” Murdock whispered. “We’ll move out until we’re within fifty yards and take cover. Looks like they left almost no security here. The troops must have almost all gone forward to the fighting.”

When they moved forward to the fifty-yard position, they could see only one sentry outside the police station. They watched it for twenty minutes. Only one soldier came and went inside. Nobody left. No military vehicles were in sight.

“Let’s take it,” Murdock said. “Bradford, one silent shot on the sentry, then we’re in the door. When you’re ready, Bradford.”

At once a chucking sound came and the sentry on post by the police station door jolted backward and hit the wall, then crumpled to the ground and didn’t move.

“Now,” Murdock said and the six men rushed forward, weapons ready. Murdock and Lam wound up one on each side of the door. Murdock grabbed the doorknob and nodded at Lam. Murdock jerked the door open and Lam charged in to the left, Murdock followed him covering the right side.

They found a large office with a desk and two chairs. A lone soldier sat behind the desk with a pen in hand and no weapon in sight.

“Where are the prisoners?” Murdock asked in Arabic.

The man froze then reached toward his belt. Murdock shot him in the shoulder. The sound of the 5.56 round exploding in the room billowed around them, making it harder for them to hear for a half a minute. The soldier fell off the chair and Lam grabbed him before his hand caught his belted pistol.

Murdock repeated the question in Arabic. Lam drew the man’s pistol and pushed the muzzle against his head.

“Okay,” he said. “Only American prisoners. They are not here. Search. Not here. We sent them north. The colonel ordered them taken to him.”

“What colonel?” Murdock asked.

“Colonel Esam Lyad. He’s the commander of the East Sector.”

“Where is he?”

“Five miles north on the highway, at the command post.”

“Do you want to live, Sergeant?”

“If it is Allah’s will.”

“Allah is telling you to find a vehicle for us, a car, truck, or pickup. Get it in here now.”

“But I don’t …”

Lam pushed the muzzle of the pistol under his chin and pressed upward in the soft tissue. The sergeant stood to relieve the pressure.

“A vehicle,” Murdock said, still speaking Arabic.

“I am the only one here.” His eyes went wide and moved from side to side. “Yes, one vehicle in back. Through here.” He motioned to a door.

“Too fast,” Murdock said in English. “Could be a trap. Rafii, check it out.”

Rafii ran to the door and swung it open standing against the wall. Two rounds blasted through the opening. He flipped in a hand grenade after letting it cook for two seconds. It went off just as it hit the floor. When the shrapnel stopped zinging through the open door, Rafii darted into the room.

“All clear in here. Two men with subguns. Both down and out of it. Checking the next door.”

A few moments later the earpieces sounded again. “All clear to the rear door. A half-ton pickup out here, army green.”

Ten minutes later the pickup came to a stop on a slight rise. The trembling Syrian sergeant pointed ahead. “There, the lights to the left. A big tent and four smaller ones. That’s the regimental CP.”

“Where would the prisoners be?”

“No idea.”

“Get one fast or eat your own pistol,” Lam said.

“Well … they could … More likely in one of the tents to the side. The rest are for the officers.”

“Which side?”

“Left side, away from the lights.”

“Out,” Murdock said. “Park the rig over there off the road, and tie and gag our Syrian mouthpiece. We might need him again. Let’s move.”

Lam led the way toward the last tent, just out of the glare of a diesel-powered generator light splash. The tents were set up in a field of harvested wheat. Lam took them down a small watercourse with a swath of small trees and brush along the sides. It gave them complete cover to within fifty yards of the tent.

“I’ll go up and check it out,” Lam said. Murdock went with him. They walked slowly, as if they belonged there, then when behind the tent, dropped to the ground, and crawled the last twenty feet. Lam put his ear to the canvas and listened. He shook his head.

Murdock drew his KA-BAR fighting knife and cut a slit in the canvas, slowly so it wouldn’t make any noise. When it was eight inches long, he leaned up, pulled the sides apart and looked inside. Two bodies lay to one side on the floor. The front of the tent had been tied shut and a guard sat on one of eight folding cots. He dozed. Murdock made the slice longer, then again until it touched the floor. He squirmed through the opening and eased up to the guard. He put one arm around his neck and jerked back enough to awaken the man. Then Murdock’s other hand clamped over the guard’s mouth. He came awake with a jolt, his eyes wild.