the kid.”
“All right, but what happens if he decides to burn
us, too?”
“We’re not going to do anything to him. Don’t even
imply that, all right?”
“If you say so . . .”
We returned to the intersection, where Treehorn told
me he’d heard voices from the tunnel behind us. The
C-4 had not sealed up the tunnel, damn it. The Taliban
were climbing over the debris and coming.
“Get some more ready,” I told him. “We’ll blow
the exit.”
The group charged forward, with the kid leading the
way. He burst through the exit and quickly turned left,
coming along a very steep ridge, where he almost lost his
balance and tumbled down the mountainside. For a
dark moment, I wished he had.
Treehorn and Brown planted the charges. We rushed
along the ridge and ducked behind a jagged section of
rock that shielded us up to our shoulders.
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167
“Just wait for the first guy because you know the rest
are right behind him,” I said.
Too late. Three guys came bursting out of the entrance,
and while Ramirez and Nolan took them out, Brown trig-
gered the explosives. A chute of rock-filled smoke lifted as
the deep boom resounded, the vibration working its way
into my boots.
“Aw, hell,” said Smith, pointing up at the ridge lines
high above the cave.
At least twenty or more fighters had already cleared
the summit and were coming down. They obviously
knew a shortcut to get up there, and as they ascended
they opened fire on us, the incoming dropping like hail
and forcing us tight against the rocks.
About fifteen meters to my left were Ramirez and the
kid, huddled against the rock. And I’ll never forget how
it all looked—
The silhouettes of my two men as Ramirez popped
up from behind cover and cut loose with two salvos
from his own AK-47 . . .
The lightning-bug flashes of muzzles drawing a jag-
ged line across the mountain . . .
And the next moment, as I blinked and looked again
at Ramirez, who pulled back from the rock, fired up at
the Taliban again, then turned his rifle on Private Hen-
drickson.
My mouth opened.
I thought for a second that Ramirez had seen me.
Everyone else was engaging the enemy now, complete
chaos all around us, with only me, the conscience of our
168 GH OS T RE CON
team, shouldering the stone and watching as Ramirez
pulled the trigger and put three rounds in the private’s
back, dropping him instantly.
He immediately huddled to the rock and screamed,
“He’s hit! Hendrickson is down! Nolan! I need a medic!
Medic right now!”
I dodged over to Ramirez’s position and rolled the
kid onto his side. He didn’t move. I checked for a carotid
pulse. No, he was dead.
“I’m sorry. I tried to cover him.”
I was beginning to lose my breath.
My men were fiercely loyal, all right.
Agonizingly loyal.
Another spate of incoming drove both of us to the
rock, and Ramirez faced me with a blank stare.
SIX TEEN
I thought I knew everything about Master Sergeant Joe
Ramirez. His parents had emigrated from Mexico and
had held fast to the old ways. They’d raised him in North
Hollywood, California, and had kept him on the straight
and narrow path. He was a devout Catholic, an altar boy,
a Boy Scout.
In his teenaged years he’d become a computer hacker
and had almost gotten busted for identity theft, but he’d
been taken under the wing of a detective who’d per-
suaded him to join the Army. His older brother Enrique
had enlisted, and I’d met him—nice guy, quiet
demeanor, and a good soldier, as reported by many of
his superiors. Ramirez followed in his footsteps.
It wasn’t long before he was tapped for Special Forces,
170 GH OS T RE CON
and he now had more experience in Afghanistan than
any of us. Two tours as an Army Ranger plus some shorter
ops. Old man Gordon had handpicked the kid himself to
become a member of the Ghosts, and Ramirez had done
a great job when I’d taken him to Waziristan and, later
on, into China. He was one of the most levelheaded
guys I’d ever served with and the last person on earth I’d
thought capable of murder. He was the epitome of an
outstanding soldier.
And he’d become my good friend.
“Joey.” I gasped.
“I’ll get him out of here,” he said. “Just have them
cover me. I can see the Hummer down there!”
Before I could do anything, he scooped up Hen-
drickson’s body and started shakily down the mountain.
Nolan came running up and cried, “Wait!” He was already
sloughing off his medic’s pack.
“Too late,” I said. Then I raised my voice. “Every-
body, fall back! Fall back! Let’s go!”
We started a serpentine descent, following the ridge
lines and those areas where the outcroppings provided
some slight cover from the Taliban behind us.
Treehorn and Brown covered our withdrawal, retreat-
ing only when they spotted a guy shouldering an RPG.
They vacated their position only seconds before the
rocket struck, heaving fiery flashes and pulverized rock.
At the foot of the hills we were met with a curious
sight: About a half dozen Afghan National Army troops
had driven up in a truck, and beside them was Bronco.
He waved me over and cried, “Let’s go, Joe!”
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171
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“We’re the cavalry. We’ll cover you.”
“How’d you know we were out here?”
He rolled his eyes, then climbed back into the truck
as the Army troops dropped to the ditches and began
firing on the advancing Taliban.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked.
“I like it when people owe me,” he said.
The rest of my guys came darting over and, using Bron-
co’s truck for cover, returned a few more salvos before
breaking off to make one last run for the Hummer.
Two more vehicles pulled up, a big Bradley and
another Hummer, and rifle squads bolted out: the secu-
rity team from the construction site.
I talked to the sergeant there, handed over the fight,
and jogged back to the Hummer. The earlier wounds in
my leg began throbbing again.
Harruck confronted me before I could climb out of the
Hummer.
I barely heard what he was barking about. I just spoke
over him: “Warris was cut off from us during a cave-in and
he’s missing. He might’ve been captured by the Taliban.”
“Say again?”
I did. His jaw fell open, then: “Well, isn’t that god-
damned convenient for you!”
“My mission is to capture Zahed. I can and will do
that without interference. Our mission tonight was com-
pletely within my rights.”
172 GH OS T RE CON
“I sent him up there to relieve you of command.”
“I know. But we got attacked.” Not exactly a lie. Not