detonation let out a single brilliant flash of light that disappeared in an instant.
A nearby explosion rocked the Second Section, and Pech Pecheur felt a sharp blow to his thigh that was followed by a numbness going through his entire left leg. 'Shit!' he said instinctively, 'I been hit!' The words went through the LASH system.
Andy Malachenko damned the shelling as he rolled from his fighting hole to crawl rapidly over to Pech's position. 'Pech needs a corpsman,' he said, as he joined the wounded SEAL. Andy pulled Pech's field dressing from his combat vest and wasted no time in wrapping it around the injured leg. He pulled it as tight as he could. 'How're you doing, Pech?'
Pech grimaced. 'I guess I'm all right.'
A moment later James Bradley raced up from his run across the perimeter in answer to Senior Chief Dawkins's radio message. Luckily, the barrage had halted, and he was able to help Andy drag the wounded man out of the hole where he would be easier to examine. James found a deep wound in the left thigh that could well include a broken bone.
'Give me a hand getting him back to my aid station, Andy,' James said.
They were as gentle as they could be as they cradled their buddy between them. It was awkward going during the short trek across the perimeter to the Command Element position, but they did their best not to shake their wounded buddy too much. When the pair arrived, they moved Pech in next to Connie Concord.
James wasted no time in getting to work on his newest patient. After getting Pech into a comfortable position, he put a tourniquet on the leg just above the wound, then removed the field dressing. A few deft snips with the scissors from the medical kit opened up the pant leg to allow access to the jagged gash from the shrapnel.
After administering fifty milligrams of tetracaine as a local anesthetic, James began the debridement procedure of removing foreign matter and dead tissue from the wound. He scraped and cut, cleaning out the injury as much possible under the crude, unsanitary conditions. He was glad to note there was no broken bone, thus no splinters left to complicate matters. With this done, he would leave the wound open for proper draining.
After the injection of a tetanus shot, James turned to preventive treatment for infection. Pech would be immobile for quite awhile before it was time for a redebridement and the closing of the wound.
Brannigan came over when he noted that James had finished with the preliminary work. Pech looked up with an apologetic look. 'Sorry about this, sir.'
'You just concentrate on healing up,' Brannigan said. He walked back to his bare-bones CP and picked up the handset of the AN/PRC-126. 'Brigand Two, this is Brigand. How many mortars do you estimate are shelling us? Over.'
'Three or four,' Senior Chief Dawkins replied. 'They don't seem to be overly supplied with ammo. I came to that conclusion from their short barrages. But they can still fuck us up. Over.'
'Send Redhawk over to me. Out.'
Garth Redhawk came in out of the dark, squatting down beside Brannigan. 'The senior chief says you want to see me, sir.'
'Right,' Brannigan said. 'These mortars are going to start taking us out steadily one at a time. As long as they maintain even this slow rate, they're not going to need much more than another twelve hours before we'll all be casualties.'
Redhawk showed a rare grin. 'Somebody ought to go down the mountain and knock them fuckers out, sir.'
Brannigan grinned back. 'Do you think you can take the time to tend to that little matter?'
'My social calendar is completely cleared for the next few hours.'
'Okay,' Brannigan said, turning businesslike. 'The best way is to drop thermite grenades down the tubes. You'll have to avoid sentries, get in there undetected and do the job. Then you make a quick exit and get the hell out before they realize their heavy weapons are melting.'
'Aye, sir,' Redhawk said. 'How many of them grenades do I need?'
'Take four,' Brannigan said. 'And nothing else except your CAR-15 and whatever you can carry in your vest. You got to be a lean, mean, mortar-destroying machine.'
'I understand, sir,' Redhawk said. 'I'll be ready to go as soon as I shuck most of this shit I got strapped on me.'
Brannigan walked over to the ammunition hole to get the grenades while Redhawk stripped for action.
.
FALANGIST FIRE SUPPORT ECHELON
15 JANUARY
0001 HOURS LOCAL
IGNACIO Perez had spent the entire evening concealed in the small clearing he had discovered. All his gear was ready for a quick exit. His pistol belt and holster were fastened around his potbelly, his Foreign Legion garrison cap was on his head, and he sat on the rucksack that had only to be picked up and slipped over his bony shoulders.
After several long moments of listening to determine no one was in the near vicinity, Ignacio got to his feet. He stood motionless for a final short period of tuning his ear into the near environment, then slipped his night vision goggles on. Now he looked out through the brush and could see that the entire mortar group was asleep. There wasn't even a guard posted. He quietly struggled into his rucksack and stepped out into the jungle, immediately heading east.
After pushing his way through the vegetation for three hundred or so meters, he abruptly turned north to head directly for the American positions.
.
BETWEEN THE LINES
0200 HOURS LOCAL
GARTH Redhawk moved carefully down the jungle mountain, watching his step not only for the purposes of stealth but to be careful of the four thermite grenades he had attached to his combat vest. The environment of thick vegetation looked strange through his night vision goggles, at times becoming a muddled view of green and white spots and splotches.
He eased down a small gulley and just reached the bottom when a nearby noise startled him. The Native American immediately dropped into a crouch. The noise repeated, and the sound of someone breathing hard could now be heard. Redhawk raised up just enough to be able to peer over the palm brush to his front. To his surprise he saw the figure of a diminutive man struggling under the weight of a rucksack. The fellow wore a night vision device yet seemed to be having trouble with his footing. After a few more moments of observing him, the SEAL saw the man's problem was that he was near exhaustion.
Even more strange was the fact the little guy was stumbling toward the Brigands' defensive perimeter. Redhawk was out of LASH range and couldn't warn the guys up on the line. However, the infiltrator or whatever he was made enough noise to wake the dead. He'd be blasted to mincemeat before he got within fifteen meters of the SEALs' positions. Either that or he'd drop dead from a heart attack first.
After Shorty passed on by, Redhawk rose to continue on his way.
.
FALANGIST FIRE SUPPORT ECHELON
0330 H0URS LOCAL
THE edge of the clearing offered an excellent view of the mortar positions just a short distance away. Garth Red-hawk noted the three heavy weapons with the covers over the tubes, all aligned on the same azimuth. Behind them were three stacks of ammunition boxes, aiming stakes, and other gear neatly arranged in exactly the same manner to the rear of the firing positions. It was all very soldierly and very professional.
The SEAL spent a few moments checking out the situation. Some shelter halves were pitched a ways from the battery, and the glowing embers of fires that had been used during the day could still be easily discerned. That, and the fact that there was no sentry posted, gave a very strong indication that here was an outfit that felt they were completely out of harm's way.
Not! the SEAL thought to himself with a grin.
Redhawk slung his CAR-15 and eased out of the jungle, treading lightly over to the mortars. The first thing he
