"The worst part of all of this," Garrett went on, "is the number of outside parties who have an interest in Balkan politics. Italy is poised to become the money man for the emerging Balkan republics, something like Japan in Asia today, and they have a vested interest in Trieste, up the Adriatic coast here. Austria and Hungary both want to see Slovenia stay independent, and that independence would be threatened if the war spread. Russia has a keen interest, of course. Yugoslavia was an ally, an anus and energy market, and a fellow Communist state, even if old Tito never saw eye to eye with the Kremlin. Besides, Russian Slavs don't want to see their South Slav cousins — that's what Yugoslavia means, by the way, 'South Slav' — they don't want to see them pushed around."
"The Russian ultra-nationalists," Presley said, "have been talking about re-imposing the socialist workers' paradise on the whole region. They're afraid all-out war in the Balkans could spill over into Moldova, Ukraine, and even Russia itself. Besides, there are all of those lovely warm-water ports on the Adriatic. Dubrovnik, Kotor, Split, and all the rest."
"Then there's Turkey," Coburn said, "which would love an excuse to get into a general war with Greece, even if they are both members of NATO. We've got literally dozens of players in this show, all with hard reasons to either back or block Macedonian unity."
"Sounds like that old cliche, the Balkan powder keg," Murdock said.
"If you want cliches," Coburn said, "try this one. The Ellen Kingston hijacking is the fuse, and it's burning damned short now. Fumble this one and we touch the whole damned mess off."
"What do you think the terrorists, whoever is behind it, what do you think they're trying to accomplish?"
"Lieutenant, that's anybody's guess right now," Garrett said, smiling through his beard. "We probably won't know until they do try to contact us. Chances are they'll have a list of political demands. You know, U.S. recognition of a Greater Macedonia, or something like that. Maybe leverage from Washington against Athens."
"And then there's the Armageddon scenario," Presley said.
"Armageddon scenario? What's that?"
"The idea that someone, the EMA or the Serbs or some other damned bunch of malcontents, actually wants a general war, that they kidnapped Kingston because they knew we would intervene militarily. You see, if Bulgaria, Greece, Turkey, Italy, Russia, and the United States, along with most of the other nations of Europe, all wound up involved in a devastating war, maybe they — whoever 'they' might be — could have a chance to move in and set up as the local tough kids on the block."
"There are some in Belgrade," Garrett said, "who have actually been boasting that the first World War started in the Balkans… and that the third one will too."
"Good God, why?"
"Is matter of pride," Stepano said. "Serbs, some Serbs anyway, see themselves as martyrs, as victims of centuries of persecution. By Turks. By Nazis. Now by Americans."
"What," Murdock said, "because we're trying to stop the slaughter of the Bosnian Muslims?"
Stepano shrugged. "They see it as their chance to get even. Like I say, they think they're victims. It is… it is insanity."
"'They?'" Garrett said. "Aren't you a Serb?"
"I," Stepano said, straightening a bit, "am American. Sir."
"Good man," Murdock said. "It's going to be good to have you with us." He meant it. The complexities and the passions of Balkan politics left him feeling cold and a little lost.
And this mission was one where getting lost — just one little screw-up — could mean not only the loss of his team, but the beginning of World War III.
9
The C-2A Greyhound was a twin-engine turboprop, a cargo aircraft designed around an enlarged E-2 Hawkeye fuselage. Popularly known as COD, for Carrier Onboard Delivery, the Greyhound was a vital link in American aircraft carrier operations, ferrying supplies, personnel, and mail to and from the big CVNs while they were at sea. Murdock and the rest of Third Platoon had boarded the aircraft aboard the Nassau early that morning. Now they were lounging in the hard folding seats that lined the Greyhound's cargo compartment, flying south along the west coast of Greece.
The men of SEAL Seven, Third Platoon, were relaxed and happy, enjoying both the flight and the prospect of what Jaybird Sterling laughingly called a "yesterday's mission."
"The only easy day was yesterday" ran the refrain from the BUD/S training, and that same spirit permeated most SEAL operations in the field as well. Some few SEAL operations, though, involved civilian clothes and tourist strolls through cities rather than twelve-mile swims or crawling through mud. The men gloried in what they referred to as a government-paid vacation, working leave, or liberty with strings attached.
All of both Blue and Gold Squads were aboard the COD aircraft, as well as the two new men Coburn had brought with him from Norfolk. Gold Squad's leader was Third Platoon's XO, Lieutenant j.g. Ed DeWitt, while the senior petty officer was Boatswain's Mate Chief Ben Kosciuszko. TM2 Eric Nicholson, GM1 Miguel "Rattler" Fernandez, RM1 Ron "Bearcat" Holt, MN2 "Scotty" Frazier, and MM2 David "Jaybird" Sterling made up the rest of the Gold Squad's muster list.
"So what do you know about this Solomos guy?" Jaybird asked Murdock after they'd been airborne for a time. "Is he Greek military?"
"I gather he used to be in the Greek paratroopers," Murdock replied, "so he's been there and knows the score."
"He probably already knows how to break into locked Volkswagens, Jaybird," Magic said, and the rest of the men in the Greyhound laughed.
Machinist's Mate Second Class David Sterling joined in the laughter, and Murdock nodded approval. Sterling was relatively new as a SEAL, but he'd been accepted by the platoon and by now was an old hand. He'd completed BUD/S training eight months ago, just in time for the op aboard that Japanese plutonium ship in the Indian Ocean. He'd won his Budweiser after the usual six months' probationary period in a wildly memorable party in Norfolk two months ago. The nickname "Jaybird" was the result of an incident involving a pretty girl, a locked Volkswagen, and skinny-dipping in the ocean off the beach at La Jolla, California, just after his SEAL training had been completed.
"How do you read it, Skipper?" MacKenzie asked. "We going to have problems with the locals? Or is all the unpleasantness higher up than down here at grunt level?"
"Don't know, Mac. We'll just have to play that as it comes. But I want all you guys to remember the captain's last word on the matter. it's low profile, right? Greek jails aren't as pleasant and comfy as the city jail back in Norfolk."
"Don't worry, Skipper," Chief Kosciuszko said, a deliberate growl in his voice. "These puppies'll behave or they're gonna think it's Hell Week all over again. Right, people?"
"Yes, Mother," Doc cracked, and the cargo compartment rang with hoots and laughter.
Murdock had given all of his men the option of backing out of this one. While working with local police in Salonika didn't sound like hardship duty, Murdock felt that he ought to give them a choice… and to let them know that this op felt wrong. It wasn't something he could put into words. After considerable thought, he'd decided that his bad feelings about the mission probably centered on the fact that, first off, their mission goals were uncomfortably vague. And even more problematical, they would be operating in a host country that didn't really want them, against enemies that weren't even identified yet, and on the fringes of a war — several wars, really — that promised to be as messy as Vietnam… in spades.
Every man in the Third Platoon had volunteered, despite Murdock's warnings. The banter among the men now as they flew south was a confirmation of what Murdock already knew. Morale was good, despite Garcia's having been wounded, something that was always tough on a unit as close-knit as this one. They were tight, hard, And ready.