Free Specter by Keith Douglass

across the beach. The tide had gone out since the SEALs had arrived on this beach over five hours earlier. Mediterranean tides rarely rose or fell as far as their oceanic cousins, but the gradual slope of the beach along this particular stretch of the Dalmatian coast meant that even a small difference between the high- and low-water levels could expose quite a lot of beach. Roselli estimated that the beach was eighty meters wide now, more than twice what it had been when they’d come ashore.
    Another helicopter rattled overhead, traveling west to east and sweeping the beach with its searchlight as it went.
    This could get damned tricky.

0514 hours
On Highway M2 east of Dubrovnik
    Narednik Jankovic walked along the north side of the seawall, trying hard to see everywhere in the darkness at once. His comrades, members of the Third JNA Mechanized Infantry Brigade, had laughed at his belief that the infiltrators they were searching for were Americans.
    They’d laughed harder still when he described the slaughter at the monastery ... had it only been three hours ago? After all the Srpska Dobrovoljacki Straza—the Serb Volunteer Guard—while made up of fellow Serbs, was nonetheless a militia, good for hunting down Bosniaks but not all that good in a stand-up fight. Caught in an ambush by professionals, of course they’d been wiped out. But that sort of thing could never happen to regular army troops.
    Jankovic wasn’t so sure. A great many members of the various Serbian militias had been JNA men like him, allowed to leave the army expressly so they could join the militias or to serve as “advisors.” Bosnia-Hercegovina had a sizable Serb population which did not want to live under either Muslim or Croat domination should Bosnia become either free or a Croat protectorate. Letting Bosnian-Serb troops leave the JNA to join the militias had been an easy means of keeping Bosnia—most of it, at any rate—under Yugoslav, that is to say, under Serbian control. While JNA troops might joke about their Bosnian brothers, the difference between the members of any Serb militia unit and the Yugoslav National Army had nothing to do with bravery, skill... or with determination. Indeed, many in the militia, especially the NCOs, were like Jankovic, still officially with the national army but serving on special attached duty with the Bosnians.
    He wondered if General Mihajlovic was right in his guess that the SEALs must be headed for this particular stretch of beach. If so, the commandos could be anywhere. . . though they hadn’t really had time yet to travel all the way down the Gora Orjen. Likely they were still up there, somewhere in that pine forest above the highway. He wondered if they were watching him right now, and shivered.
    â€œJankovic!” a young JNA poruchnik , a senior lieutenant, called from further down the sea wall. “Get over here!”
    â€œ Da, moy Poruchnik ,” Jankovic called back. He broke into a trot and hurried to join the group.
    The lieutenant and several troops were gathered together on the seaward side of the wall. One of the men had a mine detector, while the others were on their knees, scooping out a shallow hole in the sand with their hands. There was something in the hole. . . .
    â€œJankovic!” the lieutenant said, grinning. “Do you think this might have been left here by your friends?”
    He turned his flashlight on the object in the hole, his beam mingling with those of several of the men standing nearby. It looked like an inflatable boat, jet black in color, with a small engine carefully wrapped in plastic mounted on the rear.
    â€œIt could be, Lieutenant,” Jankovic replied. “Are there any markings?”
    â€œNone. It could even have been left here by Big Brother Slav.”
    â€œSomehow, sir, I doubt very much that this is Russian.”
    â€œAgreed. I thought you would like to see that your wild story has some