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both went down as yet another volley dug deeply into

the earth.

I imagined a grenade dropping to the foot of the lad-

der, and my imagination drove me onto my feet, and

Treehorn clambered up behind me. I stole a look back

and saw the ladder being hoisted up and away. We raced

back to the intersection and moved into the other tunnel.

CO MB AT O P S

229

I kept hearing an explosion in my head, that imaginary

grenade going off over and over.

The beam of my penlight was jittering across the

walls and the floor until I slowed and aimed it directly

ahead.

Still darkness. No end to the tunnel in sight.

I stopped, held up my palm to Treehorn. “This could

be one of the biggest tunnel networks in the entire

country,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” he said. “Goes all the way to China.”

I grinned crookedly at his quip, then started on once

more, turning a slight bend, then eating my words.

The tunnel abruptly dead-ended. Unfinished. In fact,

the Taliban still had excavation tools lining the walls:

shovels, pickaxes, wheelbarrows . . .

I looked at Treehorn.

“Well, Iain’t digging us out of here,” he groaned.

I put my finger to my lips. Footsteps. Growing closer.

T WENTY-T WO

Working as a team leader in an ever-changing environ-

ment with ever-changing rules and restrictions becomes,

as my father once put it, “an abrasive on the soul.” Hav-

ing toiled many years in the GM plant and enjoyed as

many years out in his woodshop, Dad was a man who

celebrated predictability. He did repetitive work at the

plant, and when he created his custom pieces of furni-

ture, he most often worked from a blueprint and fol-

lowed it to the letter. He felt at peace with a plan he

could follow. He always taught me that practice makes

perfect, that repetition is not boring and can make you

an expert, and that people who say they just “wing it”

are hardly as successful as those who plan their work and

CO MB AT O P S

231

work their plan. He told me he could never do what I

did, though, because he would never find satisfaction in

it. He needed something tangible to hold on to, sit on,

photograph, admire . . . and he needed a plan that would

not change. My father was a curmudgeon to be sure.

We’d argue about this a lot. But when I slipped off

into my own little woodshop to produce projects for my

friends and fellow operators, I understood what Dad was

trying to tell me. You cannot replace the satisfaction of

working alone, of listening to that voice in your head as

it guides you through a piece of furniture. There was

great beauty in solitude, and I sometimes wondered

whether I should’ve become a sniper instead of a team

leader. The exquisite artistry of making a perfect shot

from a mile out deeply intrigued me.

Oddly enough, I was pondering that idea while Tree-

horn and I stood in that tunnel, completely cut off. I

wished I’d had the luxury of only worrying about myself

instead of feeling wholly responsible for him. When I

was a sergeant, my CO would tell me that I’d get used to

leadership but it would never get any easier. I doubted

him. I assumed I’d find a comfort zone. But there isn’t

one. Not for me. There’s a happy place of denial that I

go to when things go south, but I can only visit there for

short periods before they kick me out.

Thus, the big sniper was at my shoulder, in my charge,

and I swore to myself I would not get him killed.

A figure materialized from the darkness.

I shifted reflexively in front of Treehorn as the figure’s

232 GH OS T RE CON

light came up and a second person shifted up behind the

first. I was blinded for a second, about to pull the trigger,

when the shout came:

“Captain! Hold fire!”

I recognized the voice. Ramirez. His light came

down.

I sighed. My beating heart threatened to crack a rib.

“Joey, how the hell did you get in here?”

“We saw you get pinned down. So we came back up,

pushed through a couple of rocks. It looks a lot worse

than it is. It caved in, but up near the top of the pile we

found a way in.”

“You all right?” Brown asked, moving up behind

Ramirez.

“We’re good. I want C-4 at the intersection. What’s

going on outside?”

“Rest of the team’s at the rally point,” Ramirez said.

“A couple more Bradleys came up. They put some seri-

ous fire on the mountains, so those bastards have fallen

back. I think we’re clear to exit.”

I looked hard at Ramirez. “Thanks for coming back.”

He averted his gaze.

That reaction made me wonder if he’d come back

only because Brown had spotted us and left him no

choice. Or maybe he was trying to get past what had

happened and show me he still had my back; I just didn’t

know.

I shook off the thought, and we got to work. Within

two minutes we had the charges ready.

“You sure about this?” Treehorn asked. “Still got that

CO MB AT O P S

233

other tunnel down there where they had the ladder . . .

who knows what’s up there . . .”

“We can’t leave this open. We need to make it harder

for them to cross over without being seen.”

“You’re the boss,” he said. “Bet there’s another exit

we haven’t found, anyway. If we get back up here, we

can search for that one, too.”

I nodded. “I bet we’ll get our chance.”

We left the intersection and reached the towering

wall of dirt and rock, noting the fresh exit created by

Ramirez and Brown, just a narrow, two-meter-long tun-

nel near the ceiling. We’d crawl on our hands and knees

to exit. I was concerned about all the rock and dirt

between us and the charges, so I gave Brown the order

to detonate before we left. He clicked his remote. Noth-

ing. I knew it. We’d gone too far off for the signal to

reach through the rock.

But then I wondered if maybe his remote detonator

had been damaged by the HER F guns. I’d forgotten

about that. We all had.

“I’ll do it,” said Ramirez, removing the detonator

from Brown’s hand.

“And I’ll come with you,” said Brown, hardening his

tone. “Could go with a regular fuse.”

“I’ll be right back.” Ramirez took off running.

“Go after him,” I ordered Brown. I had visions of

Ramirez blowing himself up. “The detonator might not

work.”

“Like I said, I’ve got some old-school fuses. We’ll

light it up.”

234 GH OS T RE CON

Treehorn began pushing his way through the exit hole.

It was just wide enough for the big guy, and he moaned

and groaned till he reached the other side.

Then he called back to me, “Hey, boss, why don’t

you come out? We’ll wait for them on the other side.”

“You watch the entrance,” I told him. “We’ll all be

out in a minute. You scared to be alone?”