"Both of you, come with me." Paced by Jankovic and the aide, Mihajlovic returned to the helicopter, which had landed on the main road just outside the monastery turnoff. In the back of the main cabin, he selected a map case from a storage rack and pulled out a military topo map covering the region between Kotor and Dubrovnik. Using a pocket flashlight, he studied the terrain carefully for a moment. "Sergeant Jankovic?"
"Da, moy Djeneral!"
"How would you like another chance against these mysterious commandos?"
Jankovic hesitated, and Mihajlovic could almost hear the wheels turning as the man considered his reply. He couldn't be eager to face those black attackers again.
"I would welcome the opportunity, my General. Of course."
Mihajlovic pointed to a spot on the map. "They almost certainly came ashore somewhere about here… east of Dubrovnik. I suspect that they have hidden diving gear somewhere along the coast. All we need to do is put down a force along M2." He dragged his fingertip along the coastal highway on the map. "Patrol from here to here and we will have our frogmen trapped, high and dry like a beached fish."
"Do we have troops enough available for such an operation?" the aide wondered. "That's a good five or six kilometers of highway."
"We can bring JNA regulars from the front lines at Dubrovnik, Major. I will give the necessary commands at once. Sergeant, you may draw a weapon and join my escort. I will be heading this operation personally."
"Yes, sir!"
The timing, Mihajlovic thought, would be tight… but he was pretty sure they could pull it off. More than revenge was riding here. If these frogman commandos were Americans, he wanted to take one or more of them prisoner. With solid evidence of covert American military action on Yugoslav soil, Belgrade might well be able to break the coalition of European and UN forces arrayed against Serbia in this damned, festering civil war. It would mean disgrace for the Americans, a propaganda victory for Greater Serbia, a promotion and an opening of political goals for himself.
In fact, it would tie in perfectly with Operation Dvorak, which had many of the same goals. A victory here would nicely complement his operation in Macedonia — a complex plot that had been in preparation for months now and was due to reach a climax in only a few more days.
Would this affect the timing of Dvorak at all? He didn't think so. It probably couldn't have been better if he'd planned it this way from the beginning.
And all he needed to do was to capture a handful of lightly armed men before they could reach the safety of the sea.
They'd alternated running and walking down the flank of the Gora Orjen, using a ground-eating pace across the open, pine-needle-covered forest floor to put as much distance as possible between them and their pursuers. The hunt was definitely on. Possibly the missing militia trooper had managed to call for help; more likely, a passing JNA helicopter had sighted the burning trucks and come to investigate. Either way, the Serbian military command in the Dubrovnik area would be alerted. At the very least, there would be patrols out, both on foot in the forest and in vehicles along the road. If the JNA commander decided to risk the threat of NATO air involvement, he would have helicopters up as well, both transports carrying squads of soldiers, and gunships.
At least that's what Murdock knew he would do if he were in the enemy commander's place.
They reached the edge of the forest just above the border fence, and Murdock called a halt. The coastal highway lay another four kilometers down the hill, across an open, gently descending field. Beyond that was the seawall and the beach.
They'd emerged from the woods within a few hundred meters of where they'd gone in. As the other SEALs took up position crouched in a defensive perimeter about the area, Murdock and MacKenzie both checked the GPS, pinpointing their position and giving them a fix on where they'd left their equipment.
"So," MacKenzie said. "What do you think? Looks clear."
"Yeah, it does. I think to be on the safe side, though, we should call in. Higgins!"
The squad's radioman crawled over to them. "Yeah, L-T?"
"Break out the sat-comm gear, Prof. We're going to phone home."
"Will do."
It took only a few minutes to set up the sat-comm system's antenna, which was stowed in a pocket of one of the rucksacks like a folded-up umbrella. With legs and arms extended, it sat on the ground, facing south, its dish just seventeen inches across. A coaxial cable extending from the back of the antenna was plugged into Higgins's HST-4 unit.
Using a small manual, the Equatorial Satellite Pointing Guide, Higgins began lining up the antenna while the commo gear ran through its automated self-checks and calibrations. When he heard a tiny peep, the antenna was properly aligned with one of the military communications satellites in geosynchronous orbit above the equator. "Ready to transmit, Skipper," he said.
"Okay. Give him a sit-rep. Tell 'em we have the package and we're four klicks from the beach, but that we got into a firefight and could have bad guys on our tail."
"Yes, sir."
As Higgins began speaking in low, measured tones into his microphone, Murdock unpacked a pair of 7x40 binoculars and began to carefully study the highway below. Low-light gear didn't help much at ranges over 150 meters; there were still situations where relatively old-fashioned equipment was more useful than modern, high-tech toys.
MacKenzie was also using binoculars to sweep the landscape. "Don't see a damned thing, Skipper."
"Affirmative. Looks quiet." Murdock lowered the binoculars. "Well, only one way to find out. Professor?"
"We got an acknowledge, L-T. They say Night Rider's on the way. ETA thirty minutes. They've also alerted Gold Squad. They're getting wet right now."
"We can't wait that long, not with the road still clear. Pack up your gear, Prof. We're moving."
"Aye, aye, Skipper."
Minutes later, the SEAL squad was back across the border and moving down the open slope, walking now, because the ground was more uneven than it had been in the forest, with numerous boot-sized holes masked by the long, dead grass. Magic had the point position now, followed by Mac and Murdock. The clouds overhead had thickened during the past hour, until the sky was almost completely overcast. The light of the moon had been lost completely; the only illumination in the sky now at all was the sullen glow over Dubrovnik.
A rumbling sounded out of the east, swiftly growing louder. Magic gave a sharp whistle, and the SEALs went to ground, making themselves as nearly as possible a part of the cold, hard landscape. The rumble neared… then exploded overhead, as thunderous as an exploding shell. The ground seemed to shake, and then the sound was dwindling away once more.
Two aircraft. Murdock could see their afterburners glowing like paired stars beneath the cloud canopy as they roared toward Dubrovnik. "Anybody see what they were?" he asked.
"Negative, L-T," Roselli said from somewhere behind. "But they sure as shit were goin' somewhere in a hurry."
"Maybe," Doc said, "they were afraid of bein' recognized."
The aircraft might have been friendlies. NATO and the U.S. had been attempting to enforce no-fly zones over Bosnia and the Adriatic coast, but with a notable lack of success. It was just as likely that those had been Serbian MiGs out of Kotor or Titograd, on their way to attack Croat positions at Dubrovnik or further up the coast.
Or…
"On your feet, people," Murdock called. "Fast!"
Or they could be air assets brought in to cover Serbian ground forces, especially airmobile troops.
"You think those guys were looking for us?" Mac asked.
"Maybe. They could be flying ground support. Even if they weren't, I think it's time we found a less hostile environment."