guys are after him. He’s heard all about some of your
Star Trektoys, and he loves the idea that he can knock
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you out with a twenty-dollar gun made in a tent in some
shithole alley in China.”
“Oh, he hasn’t knocked us out. Not yet. I don’t need
toys to bring him down.”
“Okay, Mr. Bravado. You’re a badass, we get that,”
said Mike. “But when it comes to this place, that doesn’t
mean jack.”
I turned to Harruck. “I think at this point, we should
lock these guys up until we get higher down here and
figure out what the plan is. As far as I’m concerned,
they’ve both been interfering with our mission.”
“Aw, that’s bullshit, and you know it,” said Bronco.
“I took you to see the old men. I told you what you’re
up against here. And you still don’t even know the half
of it. The entire U.S. Army depends on the balance . . .
like I told you.”
“Yeah, you told me. Thanks.” I stood. “Do the right
thing, Simon. Hold these guys as long as you can. I’m
going to see Zahed in the morning.”
“You’re what?” asked Bronco.
I grinned darkly at both spooks. “Have a good
night.”
Nolan’s body would be flown out before noon. We’d
have the small prayer service, as we’d had for Beasley,
and we’d all look at each other and think, We’ve lost one
of our brothers and any one of us could be next. When I
got back to the billet, I chatted with the guys for a few
246 GH OS T RE CON
minutes, and then we all turned in, emotionally and
physically exhausted.
But I couldn’t sleep, so I just lay in my rack, staring at
the curved ceiling.
Brown was listening to his iPod, the tinny rhythm
buzzing from his earbuds. I’d figured him for a hip-hop
guy, but he loved his classic rock. I listened for a while,
letting the tunes carry me back to moments past: my
childhood, a stickball game in the middle of the street, a
bully who’d beaten me up at the bus stop, a meeting
with the principal when I cheated on a high school trig-
onometry exam and my father had come and persuaded
the principal not to punish me too greatly.
I started crying. My lips tightened, and the deep gri-
mace finally took hold. I fought to remain quiet. But I
couldn’t hold back the tears. My father was dead. I wasn’t
going to his funeral. And I’d just lost another teammate.
I began to tremble, then clutched the sheets and finally
took a deep breath. Then I began laughing at myself. I
was a deadly combatant, member of a most elite gun club
of highly trained killers. We were unfeeling instruments
of death, not whiners and bed wetters.
I lifted my head and stared through the darkness,
across the billet to Ramirez’s bunk.
He was sitting up, watching me.
Every time we attacked the Taliban, they would regroup,
re-arm, and counterattack.
What were we expecting? That our attacks would so
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247
demoralize them that they would convert to Christian-
ity and pledge to become loyal Wal-Mart customers?
I didn’t know what time I finally fell asleep, but my
watch read seven forty-one A.M. local time when the first
explosions had me snapping open my eyes.
Ironically, the guys weren’t springing out of their
bunks but slowly rising, cursing, and Treehorn yawned
and said, “And that’s the morning alarm clock, Taliban
style.”
We ran outside, bare-chested, wearing only our box-
ers and brandishing our rifles.
I took in the situation all at once—front gate blown
to smithereens, guard house on fire, gate falling inward.
Machine gunners in the nests were focusing their fire on
two small sedans, taxis from Kandahar, I guessed, one
of which had probably carried the gate bomber.
An RPG screamed across the base and struck one of
the barracks, tearing a gaping hole in one side and explod-
ing within.
Sergeants were screaming for all the gunners to cease
fire, and within thirty more seconds, it was over.
No gunfire, just more shouting, the hiss and pop of
fires, personnel running in multiple directions like ants
fleeing a sprinkler’s flood. We all stood outside the bil-
let, and after another moment I reasoned there wasn’t
anything else we could do, so I motioned for the guys to
get back inside and get dressed and we’d head over to
the barracks that’d been hit. Ramirez was last to go back
in. He hesitated, then turned back to me. “Scott, I,
uh . . . thanks for keeping all this between us.”
248 GH OS T RE CON
I pursed my lips and forced a nod.
“I’m sorry.”
My breath shortened. “Okay.”
By the time we reached the barracks, all the fires had
been put out and we were asked to remain along a piece
of tape cordoning off the area. Harruck was there and
told me the attack was against Gul. “We got a warning
yesterday that if we didn’t turn over the governor, we’d
be attacked.”
“Why didn’t you give me a heads-up?”
“Because I’ve been getting those warnings all the
time. Most of them are fake or they don’t act on them.
They order us to leave, say they’ll attack the next day,
and they don’t.”
“Anyone hurt?”
“Lost two more at the gate. Damn it. Barracks was
empty, thank God. They were already up for chow, and
the governor is staying on the other side, up near the
gunner’s nest.”
“Good idea. How’d they get so close to the gate
again?”
“Gul’s got people coming and going all day. I’m set-
ting up a new roadblock. They’ll need to get past there
first before they get near the gate.”
“Could’ve done that in the first place.”
“Didn’t see the need till now.”
I sighed. “Live and learn. And Simon, in a little while
I’m going over to see Shilmani. All they told me was
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that they’d set up the meeting with Zahed ‘soon.’ I’m
going to tell them they’ve got twenty-four hours.”
The XO came dashing over and faced me. “Captain?
There’s a call for you in the comm center.”
The call was from General Keating. I wasn’t surprised.
Harruck had been forced to release Bronco and his buddy,
Mike, after a couple of big shots from the agency flew in
from Kandahar and raised hell. Keating, for his part, was
ducking from the piles of dung being hurtled at him from
our competing agencies. He just wanted to get me in on
the fun.
“I don’t care what they’re telling me, Mitchell. If you
can get in there, get our boy out, and drop the fat man
at the same time, then we’ve done our job. They’re try-
ing to persuade me to think about this big picture while
they cut deals with terrorists and drug runners, but
that’s not the way we operate, is it?”
“No, sir.”