I thought I would try doing a different sort of story, having finally finished my National Novel Writer's Month manuscript and came up with this. As far as background information goes, this Bond is basically Daniel Craig's James Bond, but taking place during the Cold War. As always comments and especially criticisms are welcome, as I may go back and edit this chapter later. Cheers!

Baengnyeong Island, South Korea, 1978

Lieutenant Hershel Sheperd, SEAL Team commander, helped the struggling defector out of his cheap, rubber raft onto the northern shores of Baengnyeong Island. Without a moon, the water seemed eerily dark and lifeless. The sputtering North Korean defector struggled to his feet in the middle of the watchful SEAL team. None of them spoke Korean, and he didn't speak English; the team had been scrambled too fast to locate a translator.

Pointing across the newly-tilled fields toward the distant lights of a town, Sheperd indicated for the defector to follow them to the waiting burg, and the safety of an evacuation helicopter to Seoul.

"Move out, quiet as you can," Sheperd told his men, picking up his rifle. His men didn't need the prodding anyways; all three were battle-hardened veterans, and it showed in their quick, precise movements. Still, Sheperd's gut told him something wasn't right, and so far his gut had never been wrong; it was the reason why his body wasn't lying in a ditch beside a street in Beirut.

"Townsend," he said, pulling the oldest member of the team aside, "Keep on the radio at all times until we're at the landing site; at the first sign of trouble call for backup." Townsend, a good soldier and used to his commanding officer's mannerisms, nodded and turned his radio back on, switching to the encrypted channel. Sheperd looked at the defector, making sure he wasn't falling behind. For having just been pulled from the water, the defector seemed to be able to keep up with the trained SEAL team. Sheperd wished he could talk to the man, definitely ex-Military and probably ex-Intelligence if he could warrant having a SEAL team scrambled to his location in less than 48 hours. Whatever was going on behind the scene was big, and it left a bad taste in Sheperd's mouth. Being left out of the loop usually resulted in a lot of dead soldiers.

Coming to a dirt path leading to the village, the team stopped beside the road to scout out the town as per usual. The town was nothing more than a few sparse buildings spread around a central square, all dark and quiet. While they paused, Sheperd put down his rifle and rubbed a gloved hand over his left shoulder, rubbing the area where a sniper had missed his head.

Sergeant Travis, carrying a scoped M14, crouched and moved up the dirt path, scouting the village. "Looks quiet to me, sir; most of the civvies are going to be asleep," he whispered.

Corporal Michaels, the greenhorn who had been added to the team at the last second, spoke up. "Sir, why are we being so careful about the village? This is South Korea, friendly territory."

Bringing up his own scope for a look, Sheperd surveyed the village himself. "You can never be too sure..."

Travis, moving back to the group, tapped Sheperd's shoulder and used his hands to indicate that the Lieutenant should look to the far right in the village. Looking through the scope at night, Sheperd couldn't see much of anything that wasn't illuminated by street lamps or the odd electric light. Here in the rural areas of an already-rural island, electricity was sporadic at best. However, something did glint in the darkness; and in a way that Sheperd knew he had seen before. It looked wet and sticky, and stuck to the side of a building.

His eyes widening in realization, Sheperd broke composure briefly and shouted, "Run!"

Needing no prodding, the entire team turned tail back in the direction of the beach. Though he didn't understand the word, the defector obviously understood Sheperd's intent and set off with the others. No sooner had the SEAL team started to run back across the fields, gunfire erupted from the village. Hiding in wait between piles of dead villagers, the North Korean assassins opened up on the exposed SEAL team. Running back across the fields, each SEAL took time to pause and turn to give supporting fire for the team. Bullets kicked up dirt at Sheperd's feet, and one ripped off part of his shirt without taking any of Sheperd with it. With so much incoming fire, the team would never make it while having to protect the defector. Reaching a hillock, Sergeant Travis dropped to one knee and swung his M14 up to face the oncoming attackers. "Go!" he shouted, as his rifle barked and slung lead downrange. North Koreans started to drop while the rest switched their fire to Travis's position. Sheperd wanted to protest, but he didn't have time and their mission was too important to let feelings get in the way.

Sergeant Townsend, having been fumbling with the radio the whole, laughed in exasperation as the radio crackled to life; it had been out since they started to run. Speaking into the mike, he said, "Alpha-four-one, this is Team Six requesting immediate evac, we are under heavy fire, repeat, heavy fire and Oscar-Mike to the tertiary fallback position; package is still alive and is awaiting transp-" A bullet snapped through Travis's neck and burrowed into the soft earth beside him.

Stopping and turning around, Sheperd shouted and ran back toward the body of his comrade, and more importantly, the radio. Pushing aside his anger and grief, he snatched the radio receiver from his dead comrade and indicated for Corporal Michaels to get beside him and lay down covering fire. The defector, running for his life in blind terror, managed to stop himself and jump into a nearby ditch. The gunfire on their position had been ebbing under the tide of Sergeant Travis's sniper fire, but now intensified once again. "He's gone," Michaels muttered under his breath.

Cradling the radio, Sheperd waited for a confirmation on the channel. A distorted voice finally came on the set, telling them, "…repeat, that is a copy Team Six, we are clear for dust-off at the tertiary fallback position; ETA three minutes."

Sheperd thanked whatever god watched over him that the helicopter had decided to get on station a little bit early. The radio cut out, but Sheperd already had all the reason to hurry. He grabbed the defector from his hiding place and got him to his feet, ready to move out. The North Koreans were close now, and firing more than ever, and Michaels wasn't returning fire. Sheperd rolled him over and discovered that the rookie now had a very large hole where his left eye had once been. Cursing, Sheperd snapped Michaels's tags off and resumed his run to the evacuation zone, the defector hot on his tail.

The attackers were so close that Sheperd could hear them shouting in Korean. Just as Sheperd and the defector reached the top of the hill, and the promised safety of a waiting helicopter on the other side, the North Koreans opened up for one last volley. There was no question that the defector was dead, as bullets tore through his clothes and body like they were made of rice paper.

Sheperd didn't have time to look and gape, not if he wanted to live. He dropped his weapons and sprinted with everything he had to the cleared field on the other side of the hill, and the waiting heli sitting on the grass. Sheperd looked behind his back and waited until the rest of the North Koreans crested the hill before he dropped and hugged the ground for dear life. Taking his cue, the door gunner on the Huey let loose with his machine gun, mowing down the attacking Koreans.

After waiting for the gunner to give a last few bursts from the gun out of exhilaration, Sheperd picked himself back up and stumbled wearily to the helicopter, his auburn hair blowing about his face in the backwash.

"Anyone with you?" the door-gunner shouted over the noise.

Sheperd shook his head. "I'm it." The gunner shrugged and helped the SEAL aboard as the helicopter took off. Safe in the air, Sheperd could let his anger and grief return.

With a sudden shift in his mood of elation to anger, his fist hit the riveted interior of the helicopter. A whole SEAL team lost and nothing to show for it except for a straggling commander. Holding his now-throbbing hand, he thought that he shouldn't have kept running; better to have died with his men. His son, Hershel, would have been proud to know his dad died heroically. Dark thoughts of court martials and demotions collected in his head as he adjusted in the uncomfortable bucket seat. The gunner watched the SEAL commander with sympathy, wisely choosing to not talk to the distressed commando. He'd seen enough to know that losing men wasn't easy, even worse on a failed mission.

Instead, he stared out across the ocean at the waiting lights of the South Korean mainland. In a few hours he would be back into the streets of Seoul and ready to wash away his thoughts with cheap Korean alcohol.