chancier and noisier throat slash, angling the knife down at the hollow of the Serbâs throat as he snapped the chin back. The blade slid smoothly through the half-circle described by the manâs first rib, making a tiny chink as it scraped down the inside of his right clavicle and snicked through the subclavian artery. The man shuddered in Roselliâs grip. Shoving the knifeâs hilt hard back toward his jaw sent the blade slicing into the heart; angling it sharply forward again cut through windpipe and esophagus and the thoracic vertebra with a faint, dry, cracking sound. The soldier went dead-limp, and Roselli lowered him gently, gently to the ground.
Five meters to the left, Magic Brown silently merged with a second Yugoslavian soldier. The diving knife flicked, a razor-edged blur; there was a quiet, almost regretful sigh, and then Magic eased that body too onto the grass. To left and right, the other Yugoslavs kept walking, unaware of the two deaths in the middle of their line.
Roselli and Brown maintained their positions over the bodies, knives drawn, as the SEALs one by one slipped through the gap opened in the enemyâs search line. They moved as silently as the wind, with only a faint rustle in the grass to betray their movement, and with the Hipâs rotors still slowly turning the noise was easily lost. Moments later, the SEALs reached the road, gathering in a ditch on the north side of the road about eighty meters east of the helicopter.
They used hand and squeeze signals only to coordinate their movements. There was a terrible danger here, of the helicopter turning its searchlight on the road, or of vehicles approaching with headlights on. They could clearly hear the Serb soldiers whoâd remained with the helicopter talking by the seawall just a few tens of meters away. Mac went first, his big bulk slipping across the pavement as lightly as a ballerina, edging past the line of poplars, then rolling across the seawall and onto the seaward side. Next went Magic ... then Higgins ... Doc ... Boomer . . . the L-T. Roselli went last, backing across the road with his H&K raised, ready to return fire if someone spotted them.
On the seaward side of the wall, the SEALs lay flat on the sand. Their buried IBS and diving gear, as nearly as Roselli could tell, were on the far side of the helicopter, perhaps 100 or 120 meters up the beach to the west. Touching Murdock lightly on the sleeve, Roselli looked into the expressionless lenses of the lieutenantâs night-vision gear and silently signaled: To the raft?
Murdockâs mouth, just visible beneath his goggles, twisted in a frown. He shook his head, then pointed down the shelf of the beach toward the surf: No. Weâll go out that way .
Roselli accepted Murdockâs decision, but he felt a stab of disappointment nonetheless. SEALs prided themselves in coming and going along hostile shores and leaving no trace of their visit. If they abandoned the raft, together with two sets of rebreather apparatus and seven pairs of masks and fins, someone would be certain to find it sooner or later. The next good gale or storm surge would uncover it ... as would a careful search by the local military using mine sweepers or metal detectors. Besides, there was the SEAL warriorâs image to uphold. Swimming back to the Nassau without even their duck fins would be a little too much like being chased out with their figurative tails between their legs.
It would be a long swim too without their fins and masks. Nassau was on station just beyond the old Yugoslavian twelve-mile limit. While a twelve-mile swim wasnât out of the question for SEALs, even after a rugged mission ashore, their best bet would be to link up with Gold Squad and the second CRRC. Twelve miles in the open sea with neither fins nor floatation devices was going to be murder, pure and simple.
Before they could even think about swimming back to the ship, though, they would have to get
Five meters to the left, Magic Brown silently merged with a second Yugoslavian soldier. The diving knife flicked, a razor-edged blur; there was a quiet, almost regretful sigh, and then Magic eased that body too onto the grass. To left and right, the other Yugoslavs kept walking, unaware of the two deaths in the middle of their line.
Roselli and Brown maintained their positions over the bodies, knives drawn, as the SEALs one by one slipped through the gap opened in the enemyâs search line. They moved as silently as the wind, with only a faint rustle in the grass to betray their movement, and with the Hipâs rotors still slowly turning the noise was easily lost. Moments later, the SEALs reached the road, gathering in a ditch on the north side of the road about eighty meters east of the helicopter.
They used hand and squeeze signals only to coordinate their movements. There was a terrible danger here, of the helicopter turning its searchlight on the road, or of vehicles approaching with headlights on. They could clearly hear the Serb soldiers whoâd remained with the helicopter talking by the seawall just a few tens of meters away. Mac went first, his big bulk slipping across the pavement as lightly as a ballerina, edging past the line of poplars, then rolling across the seawall and onto the seaward side. Next went Magic ... then Higgins ... Doc ... Boomer . . . the L-T. Roselli went last, backing across the road with his H&K raised, ready to return fire if someone spotted them.
On the seaward side of the wall, the SEALs lay flat on the sand. Their buried IBS and diving gear, as nearly as Roselli could tell, were on the far side of the helicopter, perhaps 100 or 120 meters up the beach to the west. Touching Murdock lightly on the sleeve, Roselli looked into the expressionless lenses of the lieutenantâs night-vision gear and silently signaled: To the raft?
Murdockâs mouth, just visible beneath his goggles, twisted in a frown. He shook his head, then pointed down the shelf of the beach toward the surf: No. Weâll go out that way .
Roselli accepted Murdockâs decision, but he felt a stab of disappointment nonetheless. SEALs prided themselves in coming and going along hostile shores and leaving no trace of their visit. If they abandoned the raft, together with two sets of rebreather apparatus and seven pairs of masks and fins, someone would be certain to find it sooner or later. The next good gale or storm surge would uncover it ... as would a careful search by the local military using mine sweepers or metal detectors. Besides, there was the SEAL warriorâs image to uphold. Swimming back to the Nassau without even their duck fins would be a little too much like being chased out with their figurative tails between their legs.
It would be a long swim too without their fins and masks. Nassau was on station just beyond the old Yugoslavian twelve-mile limit. While a twelve-mile swim wasnât out of the question for SEALs, even after a rugged mission ashore, their best bet would be to link up with Gold Squad and the second CRRC. Twelve miles in the open sea with neither fins nor floatation devices was going to be murder, pure and simple.
Before they could even think about swimming back to the ship, though, they would have to get
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