at me and said, “All right, Captain. Let’s plan this out.
Time to rock ’n’ roll. And that fool there? He ain’t
invited to this party.”
FOURTEEN
That night after dinner I agonized over an e-mail to
Matt Beasley’s parents. I would send the message once
the Army notified them of his death. He’d never married
and was an only child, but he stayed in close contact
with his mom and dad, who still lived in Detroit. I’d
written letters like that before, but this one was particu-
larly hard because of the admiration and respect I’d had
for the man and because of the growing futility—and
anger—I felt about the mission.
He died for something.I must’ve told myself that a mil-
lion times. He died while protecting his comrades. I was
citing him for a Silver Star for distinguished gallantry in
action against an enemy. That had to be enough. But it
wasn’t. My bitterness only made me feel more guilty.
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I wanted to get drunk. I knew Harruck had some
booze, but I wouldn’t go to him now. I even entertained
the idea of paying Bronco a visit to see if he had any-
thing stashed.
The boys were going over our gear with a fine-toothed
comb. We were heading out for the big show. Guns would
boom. Grenades would burst apart. Blood would spill.
That first chopper that’d come in had brought medi-
cal supplies and was not scheduled to pick up Beasley’s
body. A second Chinook finally landed at sundown, and
the transfer went off with a very brief prayer service.
Warris was there. He never met my gaze.
Now, while we prepared to saddle up, Brown came
over as I was packing magazines. “Maybe this isn’t such
a good idea, sir.”
“Second thoughts?”
“Not about the mission or being short one man. It’s
just . . . we were talking while you were on the com-
puter. No one wants to see you take any more heat.”
“Don’t worry about it. That’s part of my job descrip-
tion. They create officers so they know who to hang
when the mission goes down the toilet. I live in the fire.
We all do. If Zahed’s got some tunnels he’s using to
move troops forward so they can attack our defenses,
then it’s our job to find them and destroy them. It’s a no-
brainer. We’re not just out here to get payback for Matt.”
“I know. And I don’t want to piss you off, but you
keep saying this could all be pretty straightforward, and
they keep telling us it ain’t that simple.”
I hardened my gaze. “Maybe we just have to open
148 GH OS T RE CON
our eyes a little more and stop convincing ourselves that
this is so complex. What if it’s not? What if these people
are just playing us all for fools? Turning us against each
other, so they can get what they want? Maybe . . . it’s as
simple as that.”
He shrugged.
Yes, I was trying to convince myself more than him.
He didn’t buy it, and really, neither did I. But we needed
to trick ourselves into thinking it was good guys versus
bad guys, especially in the hours before we committed.
If we started thinking about the millions of dominoes
we might kick over with every move, we’d become para-
lyzed.
I slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for having
my back. You always do.”
He gave a slight nod. “What’s the plan to get off the
base?”
I beamed at him. “We’re Ghosts. I think we can come
up with something.”
“Yeah, we’ll figure it out.”
At about two A.M. we piled into a Hummer and drove
straight for the main gate. I had no clever plan. I just
told the sentries we were relieving a security detail at the
construction site. I showed him the fake credentials that
identified us as regular Army personnel. We weren’t on
the guy’s list. I argued. At the sound of my first four-
letter word, we got ushered through. It wasn’t as glam-
orous as sneaking off the base, but it did work.
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149
Or at least I’d thought it had.
After we left, the son-of-a-bitch guard called the XO,
who in turn woke up Harruck.
We left the truck and driver at the edge of the con-
struction site and talked to the rifle squad posted there.
I told them we were on a classified operation but if they
heard gunfire and explosions, they were welcome to join
us. The sergeant in charge grinned and said, “Is it bring
your own beer?”
“Hell, no. We supply everything.”
He smiled. “I like the way you guys roll.”
We hustled off into the desert, the sand billowing into
our eyes, the sky a deep blue-black sweeping out over a
moonless night.
The foothills lay directly ahead, cast in deep silhou-
ette, and I strained to see the tunnel entrances that
Treehorn so fervently believed were there.
At the base of the first hill, with our boots digging
deeply into the soft, dry earth, Ramirez called for a sud-
den halt, and then we dropped to our bellies, tucking in
tightly along a meandering depression. Someone was
approaching.
Actually two figures.
I whispered into my boom mike to activate my Cross-
Com. The hills lit up a phosphorescent green as the
HUD appeared and the unit made contact with our sat-
ellite. Within the next two seconds my entire team was
identified by green diamonds and blood types via their
Green Force Tracker chips.
So, too, were the two men approaching, and I gave a
150 GH OS T RE CON
deep sigh as I read the names. Warris had come along
with a private, probably his driver.
“Ghost Team, this is Ghost Lead. Friendlies approach-
ing. Hold fire.”
“Roger that,” said Ramirez. “But are you sure about
that?”
I grimaced over the remark, but yeah, I understood
how he felt.
Warris, unbeknownst to me, was wearing a Cross-
Com and had linked to our channel. He’d been clever
enough to research the access codes. He’d heard Ramirez’s
remark and suddenly said, “Ghost Team, this is Captain
Warris. I’m coming up. And if I were you, I’d be sure
about holding fire.”
Ramirez shifted over to me, covered his boom mike,
and issued a curse.
I saw his curse and raised him two.
Warris, crouched over, slipped up to the depression
and dropped down beside us, with his private doing
likewise.
“Ghost Team, this is Ghost Lead. Turn off your Cross-
Coms and huddle up.”
They immediately complied. I didn’t want anything
recorded at this point.
“How you doing, Scott?” my former trainee began, as
though he were about to offer me a beer. I sensed, though,
that he was speaking through clenched teeth.
“What’s up, Fred?”
“Harruck sent me out here to relieve you of com-
mand and bring the team home.”
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151
I pretended I didn’t hear him. “Maybe we shouldn’t’ve