Jankovic looked past the major. At first, the scene scarcely registered on his fire-numbed brain. Only gradually did it dawn on him that those red objects bathed in the headlights of a truck were men… or had been. A jeep sat crossways on the road, its motor still running. Its side had been scoured as though by a titanic shotgun blast; what was left of three or four passengers — it was impossible to tell how many — had literally been blown out of their seats.
"Some kind of booby trap," the major was saying. "If this is Mihajlovic's idea of a training exercise-"
"It is real, Major," Jankovic said as two of the soldiers helped him to his feet. "Gorazamak has been… has been taken by commandos."
"Commandos! Those fantasies again!"
"Not fantasies, Major. I was there, up north, four days ago. Now they're here."
"What commandos? Whose?"
"I don't know, sir. American, I think. Probably parachutists. They hold the castle now."
"And the general?"
"I don't know, sir. I was on one of the walls when they attacked. I… I saw it was hopeless and climbed down the outside of the wall."
"Deserting your post."
Anger flared in Jankovic… but quickly faded. It was the truth, after all. "Sir, the enemy was slaughtering the garrison. Slaughtering them, sir. I… felt it would be best if I could get help."
"You're under arrest."
"Yes, sir."
The officer was staring up the hill, into the forest in the direction of the castle.
"You will ride with me. As guide. Acquit yourself well, and the arrest will be rescinded."
Jankovic sagged, almost falling again. He wanted to tell the major to go to hell, to throw him in prison and be done with it. He didn't want to face these nightmares that appeared out of the night to kill, and kill again. He'd faced them at the monastery, and again on the beach. Now they were here, and Jankovic was beginning to think these night terrors had singled him out personally.
But discipline and training reasserted themselves. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"Commandos, eh?" the major said. "We'll see how they stand up to the 434 Motorized."
Only then did Jankovic notice the line of flat, ugly vehicles squatting on their tracks astride the main road, their engines thuttering noisily at idle.
The major grinned at Jankovic's expression. "Parachutists don't stand a chance against armored fighting vehicles, eh?"
21
They could all hear it now, the metallic clattering of an armored vehicle's tracks. "What the hell?" Magic said. "They sending tanks after us?"
"Not quite," Murdock said, leaning against the parapet and holding a Varo AN/PVS-4 nightscope to his eye. "Looks to me like a couple of bumps."
Bumps — BMP-1s, to be precise — were tracked infantry combat vehicles, a primitive version of the modern M2 Bradley AFV in the U.S. Army's inventory. Originally introduced by the Soviets in the early 1960s, the BMP-1 was the first AFV ever employed by any army, a low, boxy vehicle running on tank tracks, carrying a crew of three and up to eight troops. The top was completely flat except for a small, squat turret mounting a 73 mm gun; a launch rail mounted just above the gun carried an AT-3 Sagger antitank missile. A single coaxial machine gun completed its weapons inventory, though the troops also had firing ports along the side of the low-slung, armored hull.
Through the nightscope, Murdock could see the two vehicles just coming around the curve in the access road on the far side of the stone bridge, grinding their way toward the castle's gate, one following the other in stately line ahead.
"Higgins!" Murdock snapped. "Get on the horn and tell 'em we got company, at least two BMP-1s. If they don't get our air support here stat, those things are going to be all over us."
"Yes, sir!"
He opened his tactical channel. "Mac!"
"Yeah, Boss!"
"We've got bumps knocking at the front gate. Where's that truck?"
"Roselli's got it started. He's on the way!"
But it might already be too late.
"Get those RPGs up here, gate tower, on the double."
"Yes, sir!"
Murdock heard the truck's engine behind him, just audible over the ragged purr of the BMPs. The Yugoslav vehicles had slewed to a stop a few meters beyond the bridge and appeared to be waiting there. Murdock shifted his nightscope, checking the woods to either side. Yes… there was some movement. Troops were moving among the trees. There was also some movement at the bridge abutments on the far side of the ravine… men checking for mines or booby traps, he thought.
Blowing that bridge would have been a nice idea, Murdock thought, but the team had been so heavily loaded for Alexander already that they'd brought a minimum of explosives with them. Frazier had a kilo or so of plastic explosives and the usual assembly of detonators and primacord, but that bridge was solid built, all steel and concrete. A good twenty kilos or more would have been necessary, and it had been assumed that the stuff wouldn't be needed for a quick in-and-out like this one.
"I think we'd better get clear of this tower," Murdock told the other men with him. "These walls aren't going to stand up to a seventy-three."
"My antenna's on the roof," Higgins said.
"Bring it. We can realign-"
The coaxial gun of the lead BMP opened fire, the stuttering yellow muzzle flash stabbing out of the night. Bullets whined and shrieked off stone or thudded heavily into the barricade at the gate. Murdock turned to look out of the tower's southeast window; Roselli was backing a two-and-a-half-ton truck into position, blocking the open gateway.
"Out!" Murdock yelled. "Everybody out! Roselli! Get the hell out of there!"
The BMP's 73mm gun spoke, the shot a hollow boom that echoed off the mountain above. The round slammed squarely into the truck and detonated, the concussion jolting Murdock in the gate tower directly above the blast. The SEALs scrambled out through the narrow doorway leading to the parapet walk northeast of the gate tower.
"Razor! You okay?"
"I'm clear, Boss," Roselli's voice replied. "A little singed."
From his new position on the ramparts, and using his nightscope, Murdock could see small details of the vehicle now, including the semicircle of small ports around the driver's hatch and on the commander's hatch just behind. Firing at those slits with small arms, though, would be futile… and a great way of drawing fire. Automatic weapons were flashing and stuttering from the forest. Bullets sang off the castle walls or sighed overhead. The lead BMP was moving again, starting toward the bridge.
"Holt," he called over the radio. "Where are you?"
"West wall, L-T. Just got here."
"Anyone with you?"
"Nick the Greek," another voice said. "I'm up here with Bearcat."
"Okay. I want you two guys on top of the keep. Holt, use your sixty to sweep bad guys off the walls. Papagos, you spot. Watch out for our people."
"You got it, L-T. Let's move it, Bearcat."
Another explosion boomed from beneath the archway of the main gate. For a moment, Murdock thought the BMP had fired again, but it was the gasoline tank in the truck-barricade cooking off. Orange flame spilled skyward, licking at ancient stone, and Murdock was very glad that they'd cleared the gate tower. Assault rifles chattered wildly from across the ravine.
"Magic!" he called. "Professor! I want you two up on the tower as well."
"I need my sat antenna, L-T," Higgins said.
"Forget it." The roof of the gate tower would be well covered by fire from below. "Achilles will be in line-of-sight soon enough. Now haul ass!"
"Here we go, Boss," Mac said. Murdock turned. Behind him, Mac was cradling an RPG-7 under one arm and holding a case of four rocket grenades in the other.