The Apostle

When it came to what specific weapons were used, it was “dealer’s choice,” meaning that Harvath was able to relay through Fontaine and the Canadian combat controller exactly what he wanted. Because the Taliban were not only on the hillside, but also rapidly encroaching on their position, Harvath was very precise. Though the Spectre’s 20mm Gatling gun could crank out eighteen hundred rounds a minute, the fire could be wildly inaccurate. Harvath had been in this position before and he knew exactly what he wanted.

The thirteen-person crew of the Spectre, call sign Flash 22, a

When the Taliban started ru

In the space of thirty seconds, the Spectre’s rapid-fire, single-barreled 40mm Bofors ca

High overhead, the AC-130 flew in a racetrack-like orbit.

“The Spectre is going to stay on station, right?” asked Harvath as he crept back to the window with his Glock and peered out with his NODs.

“Are you kidding me?” said Fontaine. “Flash 22 has a brand-new crew. This is the first time they’ve loosed any steel on the Taliban. Half of them are probably uploading the video of that first volley to their MySpace pages right now.”

“So we’re good for another rake?”

“We can have as many as we want tonight until they either run out of ammo or run out of fuel. My money’s on their ru

Harvath strained his ears once more. “There are definitely people still alive out there. I’m hearing voices just north of us.”

“Roger that,” said Fontaine as he went back to communicating with Captain West’s combat controller over the radio. He repeated that they had “danger close” and that the Spectre crew was clear to use their own night vision to engage any targets outside the mud brick building with the IR strobes atop.

Fontaine then turned back and said, “Thirty seconds.”

Harvath instructed everyone to take cover again and crawled away from the window.

When Flash 22 reengaged, they did so once again with a vengeance from their Bofors.

After the Spectre ceased firing, Harvath retook his post at the window. He couldn’t hear or see anything moving outside. Fontaine spoke with the Canadian combat controller again and then joined him.

“Flash 22 says we’re the only thing they can still see moving, but they’re going to remain on station for us,” he said.

“Good. How about that helicopter?” asked Harvath.

“West’s team is en route. ETA is less than five minutes. They’ll have the LZ secured and the helo will be on the ground by the time we get to the bottom of the road. They’re sending two LAVs up to meet us.”

“With their medic, right?”

“That’s affirmative,” replied Fontaine.

Harvath looked at Gallagher and said, “Are you ready to rock and roll, buddy?”

Baba G attempted a smile and flashed Harvath a halfhearted thumbs-up. Raising his arm caused him to start coughing pink froth again. They didn’t have a lot of time, and while Harvath didn’t like the idea of moving him, he liked the idea of wasting what little time Gallagher might have even less.

With Harvath covering him, Daoud crept out the back of the mud hut and retrieved the weapons of the two Taliban Gallagher had killed.

There was no comfortable way to carry Gallagher with his collapsed lung. All they could do for him was to try to get him back up to the road as quickly and as safely as possible. Harvath opted for the superman carry again, but this time, instead of Fontaine ma

Harvath nodded, and he and Fontaine switched places. While not exceptionally fast, Harvath figured the old man was probably up to the task. And, for the little amount of speed they were giving up, they were gaining a lot more security. Having Fontaine free to accurately fire one of the AKs Daoud had just retrieved instead of relying on his pistol while carrying Gallagher would make a big difference.

Removing his knife, Harvath cut two strips of fabric from Asadoulah’s patoo. He then retrieved the two IR strobes and secured one to Baba G and the other to Daoud. He wanted everyone, especially the Canadian troops and the American Air Force crew of Flash 22, to be able to see their party through their night vision devices and know that these were the good guys.

Once everyone was ready, Fontaine radioed the Canadian combat controller that they were about to move and then Harvath gave the actual command to move out.

Five meters outside the mud hut, the carnage was instantly evident. Dead Taliban were everywhere. Had Flash 22 taken even a few seconds more to get there, Harvath and his team would have been totally overrun.

As they moved toward the road, Harvath reminded himself to scan and breathe, scan and breathe. Though he found it difficult to imagine that anyone could have survived two passes by the Spectre, it wasn’t impossible.

When they finally reached the road, the scent of burnt flesh and scorched earth was replaced by the smell of the exploded vehicles. The noxious black smoke, a stomach-churning mixture of charred metal, flaming tires, and burning gasoline, was carried on the wind to the place where they now took cover.

“How far out is West?” asked Harvath, as he tried to help position Gallagher so he didn’t have to breathe the fumes.

Fontaine spoke into his radio and replied, “They’ve got two LAVs securing the LZ and the other two coming up the road right now.”

Harvath collected both IR strobes and used one to mark their exact position; he crept out from behind their cover and placed the second in the middle of the road.

Less than a minute later, he heard the roar of the enormous Canadian LAVs as they thundered up the road.

All of West’s men were switched on and ready to fight. The LAV gu

A stretcher was rushed over and Gallagher was placed upon it. Immediately, the medic went to work assessing his injuries. He then took his vitals while another Canadian soldier started an IV.

The medic studied the makeshift tourniquet and, as it was doing its job, decided to leave it in place. He then turned his attention to Baba G’s other wound.

Cutting away Gallagher’s jacket and tunic, they then removed his armor and the medic cut through his T-shirt beneath, fully exposing Baba G’s left side. Though his pulse was thready, the medic gave him a couple of cc’s of morphine anyway and then applied a topical anesthetic to the space between his ribs where he was going to need to open him up.

“This is going to hurt,” he said to the Marine, and then asked Harvath and Fontaine as well as two other Canadian soldiers to help hold him down.

When the medic used the scalpel to slice between Gallagher’s second and third ribs, the man’s body seized. He was on minimal morphine, and though the procedure was incredibly painful, he didn’t cry out.