Free Specter by Keith Douglass Page A

vindication.” He laughed. “When we catch them, we’ll have to teach them a lesson for littering our beautiful Adriatic beaches!”
    â€œWhat now, Lieutenant?” the man with the mine detector asked.
    The officer pointed up the beach. “We keep looking. There may be more than one of these. You two. . .” He pointed out two of the men. “Stay here, and stand guard. Jankovic’s monsters could be just a few meters away, waiting for their chance to sneak back and claim their property!”
    Everyone save the two “volunteers” laughed, and Jankovic smiled. “Stay alert,” he told them. Then he turned away and started following the man with the mine detector.

0515 hours
On the beach east of Dubrovnik Croatia
    Murdock had been seriously worried about options for some time now. Back at the monastery, he could have called for a helicopter pickup, but he’d thought it wise to get clear of the area. Subsequent developments had proved him right on that one; there were too many Serb helicopters about, too many airmobile troops, to risk an incursion by U.S. Marine or Navy helos off the Nassau.
    Okay. Next he could have headed straight for the beach, or he could have taken his men in some other direction, moving deeper into the forest-clad slopes of the Gora Orjen. They could have found a place to hole up, maybe call for a pickup the next night, or the night after that. He’d chosen to return to the beach. At first there’d been no indication that the Yugoslavs were onto them; once the JNA helo touched down at the monastery, it had seemed safer to try to make a run for the sea, before the locals could figure out that was where the SEALs might be headed.
    A bad call... but the best he could have made under the circumstances. Once confronted by Yugoslavian troops and helos between the SEAL squad and the sea, he’d again been forced to make a choice—either to head back into the hills or to try to get around or through the enemy line.
    There are no certainties in combat. None. In a difficult tactical situation there is no way to know in advance which of several possible options is the right one. As one of the SEAL instructors with Murdock’s BUD/S class had put it once, “If you end up dead, chances are you made the wrong choice.”
    The entire trek back down the mountain from the monastery, though, had been one combat decision after another. So far, all seven SEALs were still alive, which was something, but Murdock had the feeling that he was being backed into a tighter and tighter corner, with fewer and fewer doors leading out. SEAL tactical training emphasized taking the initiative; it was supposed to be the SEAL team that set the ambush, the SEALs that forced the enemy to react to them, not the other way around.
    Never mind. The sea was almost within reach. Mac and Magic had already started down the shingle of the beach, crawling flat on their bellies, spacing themselves well apart. Murdock had already lost sight of Mac, and thought he must have reached the surf line by now. Chief MacKenzie was carrying the waterproof rucksack holding Gypsy’s briefcase—another cold tactical decision on Murdock’s part. Of all the men in the squad, Murdock thought that the big, muscular Texan had the best chance of making it back to Nassau with the CIA’s prize intact.
    Another pair of jets thundered low overhead, and Murdock peered up into the overcast sky, trying to see them. Nothing. Were they Yugoslav? Or fighter cover for the SEAL exfiltration?
    Less than five meters away, just on the other side of the seawall, a Serbian soldier stepped out from the shadow of a poplar and peered up toward the sky as well. Satisfied, apparently, that the aircraft were either friendly or, at least, not interested in him, he slung his AKM and produced a pack of cigarettes. A moment later, a match flared briefly between his cupped hands.
    Murdock reached out, squeezed