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the far end. Judging from the sounds above, most of the
Taliban were engaging the choppers or putting fire on
the mountainside. I didn’t expect to encounter much
resistance in the tu
tion and ducked a bit lower to enter the drainage pipe, I
froze at the sound of voices.
I doused the penlight in my other hand.
Flashlights shone ahead. I set Hila down. I flicked the
penlight back on.
Oh, no. There was a long line of guys, maybe twenty,
maybe more, coming right at us.
I saw them.
They saw me.
They screamed.
I reached into my web gear and produced a grenade.
They screamed again.
I pulled the pin and pitched the grenade far down the
pipe, then threw myself over Hila as three, two—
My satellite phone started ringing again.
One.
I cupped my ears as the grenade went off with a blind-
ing flash and rush of air, as the men shrieked now, and I
suddenly rose, damning my ringing phone to hell, and
unleashed salvo after salvo through the smoke and gleam-
ing debris.
Then I screamed ahead, told them to run away or die,
I think. Something pretty close.
The pipe grew very quiet, save for my ringing phone.
I cursed, pulled it from my pocket, and realized it’d
been General Keating on the line.
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Aw, damn. I’d get with the old man later. I switched
off the phone, picked up Hila, and eased my way for-
ward as far ahead, footfalls sounded, though no flash-
lights lifted my way. I neared the area of the explosion,
saw how the concrete had been blasted apart, then real-
ized the earth above had nothing to support it. Below
were a half dozen men shredded into bloody heaps.
I reached up with my finger to check the stability of
the ceiling, and that was when the entire section of earth
came down on top of me. It all happened so fast that I
didn’t realize how much dirt had fallen until I tried to
move my legs. Trapped. I managed to bring up one arm
and brush it from my face. I spit dirt, then glanced up . . .
and there it was about a meter above, an open hole and
the stars beyond. The gunfire popped and cracked, and
two mortars exploded somewhere beyond.
I started writhing back and forth, trying to free
myself, when I heard more voices. I wasn’t sure which
side of the tu
panic, shoving my arm more violently and trying to
kick. The earth to my right began to give away, and sud-
denly I fell sideways and out of the pile, sliding down a
hill of dirt that was spreading to Hila.
“Ghost Lead, this is Predator Control. Thirty sec-
onds, and you are still too close to the drop zone, over.”
“Roger that,” I said, then coughed. “I’m moving
out. You just do your job!”
“Mitchell, this is Keating,” called the general as
another video box opened in my HUD. “I’ve been try-
ing to get a hold of you, son! Your orders have changed!”
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So I ripped the Cross-com off my head and turned it
off. It was a little late for that shit.
The passage through the pipe was completely blocked.
I thought if I could get us up on top of the pile, I might
be able to push Hila through the hole and up top.
But I had no idea what we’d find up there. I needed
to chance a look for myself. I climbed back up, pushing
back into the dirt, and up through the hole until my
head jutted out. I was facing the mountainside, muzzle
flashes dancing across the ridgelines. I turned around to
face the village and saw at least forty Taliban fighters
racing directly toward me ru
pickup trucks with fifty-calibers mounted on the back,
the guns spewing rounds.
But then, from somewhere behind me came the hiss
of rockets, and just as I turned my head, I saw an Apache
roar overhead and the pickup trucks explode in great
fireballs not thirty meters from my head.
I ducked back into the hole. The Predator controller
was about to drop his bombs. I hustled down and
grabbed Hila. I moved her higher across the dirt mound
and toward our escape hole. I shifted around to try to
shield her from the blast, then took two long breaths
and listened for the first impact.
THIRT Y
I tucked in as tightly as I could, and the next few sec-
onds felt like a lifetime.
For a moment, I thought the controller had changed
his mind or been ordered to abort.
But then, just as my doubts were begi
root, twin detonations, somewhat muffled at first, origi-
nated from behind us, well off into the basement. Not
three heartbeats later came a roar unlike anything I’d
ever heard, followed by a massive tremor ripping through
the ground.
As the earthquake continued, a wave of intense heat
pushed through the tu
started dragging Hila higher toward the hole, fearing
that all the air would be consumed before we escaped.
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That I moved farther up was the only thing that saved us
from a wave of fire that rushed through the pipe. I kept
groaning and dragging her higher, my boots slipping on
the dirt, as dozens of smaller explosions began to boom,
and I knew that was all the ammunition begi
cook off. Then came a horrible stench as the opium
began to burn. My eyes filled with tears, and for a few
seconds I thought I’d pass out before someone grabbed
my arm and began pulling me up.
There was screaming, but I couldn’t identify anyone
above the cracking and booming from below, as well as
more booming from the village as I was suddenly hoisted
out of the hole and plopped down in the sand.
I blinked hard, saw Brown and Smith there, with
Brown digging back into the hole and pulling out Hila.
He was wearing the Cross-Com I’d given to Ramirez.
Behind us, the helicopters were still engaging the
Taliban fighters on the ground, but most of them were
retreating back toward the walls.
However, at least one machine gu
a jingle truck opened fire, and we all hit the deck a
moment before the Apache gunship whirled around and
directed a massive barrage of fire that not only tore
through the gu
“I’ve got her,” yelled Smith, scooping up Hila and
gesturing toward the mountainside. “The tu
there! Let’s go!”
Brown pulled me back up. “We locked onto your chip
as soon as you got close to the top. You okay?”
“More than okay. I got Zahed.”
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Brown was all pearly whites. “Hoo-ah! Mission com-
plete, baby. Let’s roll!”