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Excerpt from "Forget Me Not"
A Warner Forever Release
December 2004
ISBN: 0-446-61482-3
©2004 by Marliss Melton
Gunfire rained down on the four man SEAL squad, ricocheting off the concrete floor and metal walls of the warehouse in Pyongyang Harbor, North Korea. Bullets punctured holes in the barrels of crude oil stacked between massive metal containers, spewing slick liquid all over the floor.
Lieutenant Gabriel Renault, codename Jaguar, ducked behind a barrel as a bullet chipped the wooden pallet beside him. Who the hell? he wondered, his heart beating fast beneath his wet suit. Local tangos—-terrorists--weren’t likely to shoot up their own warehouse just to ward off intruders. Nor could they have seen the SEALs in the dark, camouflaged as they were to blend into the shadows.
Yet there were at least four shooters, positioned at opposite ends of the warehouse on catwalks that crisscrossed overhead. To have spied the four-man SEAL squad, they would have had to have night vision goggles similar to Gabe’s. And if that were the case, they were either lousy shooters, or they had no intention of killing the SEALs, only scaring them, which didn’t make sense if they were terrorists.
The executive officer’s anxious whisper floated through Gabe’s earpiece, sounding as uncertain as it did on the other scant missions he took part in. “Fall back,” he told them.
Gabe grimaced in disgust. “We need to secure the rest of the cargo, sir,” he reminded his senior officer. Christ, there were only four shooters; it wasn’t like they were outnumbered. They’d faced more serious odds in the past and still fulfilled their objective.
“Negative. We’ll be good with what we have. Repeat. Fall back to the SDV. Westy and Bear, do you copy?”
“Copy, sir.” It was Chief Westy McCaffrey, who sounded as pissed off as Gabe was feeling.
“Roger, X-ray Oscar,” Bear confirmed on a growl, using the XO’s call sign.
“You two take the south exit,” Miller instructed them. “Jaguar and I will take the west.” The message ended with a hiss of static that made Gabe flinch. He tapped his earpiece, concerned that his communication system, faltering for the last twenty minutes, had finally crapped out on him. “X-ray Oscar, do you copy?” he inquired, hearing nothing but static. “Shit!” He tapped the microphone three times, but no response.
At least his NVGs were working. He scanned the catwalks with the thermal sensitive goggles, spying an arm as it emerged from behind a steel girder and fired rounds in a random pattern, wreaking havoc on the barrels of oil, which emptied their contents in sluggish streams. Cautioning himself not to slip, Gabe backed out of his hiding place.
Leaving behind the fourth surface-to-air missile left a bad taste in his mouth. He finished a job, no matter what obstacles impeded the mission—and there was always something. Quitting now was an act of cowardice. Westy was a good enough sniper to take the tangos out, one by one. They hadn’t even tried a distraction, for God’s sake! Why carry smoke grenades if they weren’t going to put them to use?
He snaked out of his cover, flattening himself against the crate that housed the fourth missile. The fact that this surface-to-air missile, or SAM, was bound for the Middle East tomorrow meant that it might ultimately be used against the United States. Leaving it in this North Korean warehouse was not an option, in his mind.
With great reluctance, he slid his hand along the crate, feeling the rough splinters prick his palm. He rounded the corner and came face to face with his XO, and drew back in surprise. Miller was supposed to meet him by the out point.
Even with grease paint on his face, Miller looked nervous. The whites of his eyes shone in the darkness. “Let’s go,” he muttered, jerking his head toward the exit.
Gabe tried to tell him that his headset wasn’t working, but Miller had already turned away. Gritting his teeth, Gabe followed. Every muscle in his body quivered in frustration.
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