Danger Close (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 1)

Danger Close

The Echo Platoon Series

Book One

by

Marliss Melton

Bestselling, Award-winning Author

Published by
ePublishing Works!

www.epublishingworks.com

ISBN: 978-1-61417-641-1

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Copyright © 2014 by Marliss Melton. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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Foreword

Danger Close
is a full-length novel that was inspired by a short story I wrote for the
SEAL of My Dreams Anthology
in 2011. If the story seems familiar at first, that's the reason. Read on, and you'll find that the rest is exciting and new.

Acknowledgements

My projects inevitably end up being the product of a group effort. It is only right that I publically acknowledge my able assistant, Wendie Grogan, and my talented editor and best friend, Sydney Jane Baily (who is also an historical romance author in her own right—you should read her books). In addition, I owe a debt of gratitude to my Beta readers for hunting down typos. Penny, Mellena, Cindi, and Dannielle—your efforts are so greatly appreciated!

Prologue

The Mark V-1 Special Operations Craft slid with a hiss onto a deserted strip of moonlit shore. Lurching to a stop, it delivered a four-man fire team of Navy SEALs at their insertion point on the Mexican side of the Rio Grande River. Lt. Sam Sasseville stripped off his night ops jacket and stuffed it into the gunwale locker. Giving his teammates the go-signal, he leaped ashore with a lightweight pack, confident that his three teammates followed. Even with the added weight they carried and the mud sucking at their boots, he could scarcely hear their footfalls.

Beneath the jackets they'd discarded, they were dressed to resemble civilians. Wearing dark cargo pants with pockets full of extra ammo and baggy black T-shirts to conceal an arsenal of weapons, they melted into the darkness. A Gerber blade splinted Sam's right ankle. His backpack, like every other man's, contained a helmet with NVGs attached, several MRE's, baby wipes for keeping clean, and a fresh T-shirt. Sam's pack also carried an LEO satellite phone.

Sweeping jungle-green eyes over the flat, scrubby terrain, he assessed their location. A steady drizzle dampened waves of dark hair he'd inherited from his Cuban grandmother. A compliment of tan skin simplified his infiltration into the Mexican province of Tamaulipas.

Sam's three teammates didn't have it so easy. Bronco, Haiku, and Bullfrog had all slathered their bare skin in bronzing lotion. Bronco wore a floppy hat to cover his sun-streaked hair, while Bullfrog and Haiku, both brunettes, went hatless.

The lapping of water muffled the SEALs' trek across the mud flats to their predetermined location. As the K50S water jets on the Mark V-1 carried the craft silently back to the Gulf, the squad rallied, squatting amidst the marsh grass. They wouldn't need the delivery vehicle again. If everything went as planned, they would exfil via helo.

Sam checked his watch before shrugging off his pack and grubbing inside for his satphone. A simple three-digit combination put him in touch with headquarters.

"Home plate," answered the ops officer, Lieutenant Lindstrom, who sat before a computer monitor at the Spec Ops Headquarters back in Dam Neck, Virginia.

"Heads up, home plate," Sam replied, having fun with the baseball lingo they'd decided to use to encode their progress. "Tampa Bay Rays are at first base now, waiting for the ump to show up."

"Play ball, Rays," Lindstrom said, with a snigger on his end.

"Here he comes now," Bronco stated, apparently spotting the "ump" through the high powered scope on his sniper rifle. "Right on time."

Over the patter of rain, Sam detected the purr of an approaching engine. Twin beams sheared the tops of the tall grass that hid them. The so-called umpire was a DEA officer who'd volunteered to help out. He would escort them into Matamoros, the lawless town situated across the U.S. border from Brownsville, Texas. There, the SEALs would initiate a forty-eight hour reconnaissance, monitoring the movements in and around the site, before sweeping in to recover their target. If all went well, they'd drive to the exfiltration site and fly off on a Navy Seahawk.