Read Online Specter by Keith Douglass - Free Book Online

earth.
    Jankovic wondered if the fact that the man’s name was Mihajlovic had anything to do with it. Dragoljub Mihajlovic had been a colonel on the Yugoslav Army general staff during World War II, the man who had organized the original Chetniks. He’d been shot by the Communists in 1946—naturally enough since the Chetniks had in some cases openly collaborated with the Nazis, especially late in the war.
    Well, it probably meant nothing. Mihajlovic was a common Serb name. But the general was old enough to be a son or a nephew of old Dragoljub, and such a connection would go a long way toward explaining his ambition ... and his enthusiasm for this mission.
    Jankovic almost hoped the commandos, whoever they were, had already made good their escape. Their ruthless and deadly efficiency at the monastery had burned the warning into Jankovic’s brain. These were not men to trifle with, not men to put into a corner where their only option was to fight their way out.
    â€œHey! Sergeant!”
    Jankovic turned from the window. The kaplar —the corporal—sitting in the next seat grinned at him hopefully.
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œI hear you actually saw some of these terrorists we’re supposed to be hunting. What were they like, huh?”
    â€œDangerous,” Jankovic said. “Extremely dangerous.”

0504 hours
Above the beach east of Dubrovnik Croatia
    â€œChopper incoming!” Roselli called. “Take cover!”
    The SEAL squad went to ground, still a full hundred meters short of the highway. The helicopter ... no, two helicopters were coming in low from the west, with running lights blinking, with searchlights on and painting the road beneath them with dazzling white shafts. The lead aircraft flew past the SEALs’ hiding place, racing toward the east. Its rotor wash set clouds of sand swirling in its wake, illuminated by the glare of its spotlight.
    Roselli lay stretched out on the ground next to Murdock, his H&K’s stock pressed to his shoulder. “Whatcha say, L-T?” he asked. “Shall we take ’em?”
    â€œNegative, Razor,” Murdock replied. “Some of those Mi-8s sport a fair amount of armor. All we’d do is pinpoint our position.”
    â€œShit. What I wouldn’t give right now for a couple of LAWs.”
    â€œJust sit tight. We’ll wait ’em out.”
    â€œI dunno, L-T. Looks like that second bird’s gonna touch down right over there.”
    As the lead Mi-8 vanished toward the east, the second aircraft was flaring out, nose high, settling down toward the road in a whirl of windblown sand. The line of poplar trees beyond whipped frantically in the breeze. As the helo’s wheels hit the pavement, the cabin door on the port side slid open, and soldiers armed with AK assault rifles began piling out.
    â€œHow many you figure?” Boomer asked from nearby.
    â€œA Hip’s normal troop complement is thirty-two,” Murdock replied. “Hip” was the NATO desgination for the Mi-8 in its troop-transport role. “But I guarantee you there’ll be more coming down the road by truck any time now. This’ll just be the advance guard.”
    â€œLooks like first-string JNA stuff,” Roselli said. “They must want us pretty damned bad.”
    Murdock reached behind him and pulled out his night-vision set, pulled off his hat, and settle the goggles over his head. Roselli already had his goggles on his head, pushed up above his eyes, so he simply slid them down into place and switched them on.
    The NVDs didn’t make the helicopters that much clearer, not with all the flying sand and dust and the sweep of searchlights, but the soldiers sprang into sharp relief. “No night-vision gear, L-T.”
    â€œI see, Razor. That gives us a chance.”
    It was a little like being the invisible man, Roselli thought. You could see them, but they couldn’t see you, wouldn’t even know you were