“YOU HAVE TO GO THERE!” Ramirez shouted
at the top of his lungs—
We all froze, shocked by the outburst.
Brown whirled back, leaned over, and got squarely in
Ramirez’s face. “No, I do not. So you’d best shut up
now, Joey. Just shut up.”
Ramirez began to lose his breath. “He tried to relieve the
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captain of his command. The captain refused. We refused to
acknowledge him. We’re all going down if Warris talks. All
of us! It’s like we’re going out to save the guy who’s going to
chop off your heads! What’s wrong with that picture?”
“Why are you so worried?” asked Treehorn. “I don’t
give a rat’s ass what that punk says. It’s his word against
ours. Screw him.”
“Harruck will back him up,” said Ramirez. “I’m tell-
ing you, if we rescue his ass, we’re done, busted down to
regular Army, maybe even discharged.”
“I’ll take all the heat for that,” I said, my tone in
sharp juxtaposition to his. “No worries, guys.”
“You can try to take the heat, but that won’t matter,”
said Ramirez. “He’ll try to hang us all. And I’m not
going to let that happen. Not for a second.”
“Then what’re you saying, Joey?” asked Brown.
“You knowwhat I’m saying.”
Treehorn threw up his hands. “Aw, no way. I’m not
listening to this.”
“Look, we do everything in our power to rescue him,
but unfortunately, he doesn’t make it back—”
“Oh my God,” said Hume with a gasp. “Joey, are you
insane? Do you know what the hell you’re saying?”
“THIS AIN’T A GODDAMNED WAR! IT’S NOT!”
he shouted.
I looked at Ramirez. “Maybe you’re going to stay
behind.”
“No, sir.”
“Then you’re done talking. You’re just going to shut
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267
up and do your job—and our job is to rescue one of our
brothers and bring him back. And that’s what we’re
going to do. Do you all read me—loud and clear?”
They boomed their acknowledgment.
I pointed a finger at the door and glowered at Ramirez.
“Outside.”
We shifted out together, with the heat of the team’s
gazes on our shoulders.
He paced and shuddered like a rabid dog.
“I need you tonight. You’re one of the best guys I’ve
got,” I began.
“We can’t rescue Warris.”
“You’re getting all bent out of shape for nothing.
Who knows if we’ll even find him? Worry about him
barking later. Not now.”
“We can’t trust anybody, can we?”
“What’re you talking about?”
He shrugged, then squinted toward the setting sun.
“This place . . . it’s driving me crazy.”
I nodded. “It’s the sand. Just gets everywhere.
Shower doesn’t even help . . .”
He sighed. “No way to get clean. Not here.”
“Look, bro, I can’t do this without you. I need my
Bravo team leader sharp and ready. We’re good. You
should know that. We’re good.”
“Okay. But Warris . . . I just don’t know.”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“No. It’s an order.”
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He took a long breath, cursed, then started back toward
the billet.
I echoed his curse.
At about two A.M. local time, we borrowed a civilian
pickup truck and drove out past the bridge we’d blown,
working our way parallel along the riverbank till I found
the shallowest-looking spot. We parked there and
waited.
What I didn’t tell the guys was that after I’d had my
talk with Harruck and he’d been reluctant to promise
any help, I’d gone outside and met with the XO, who
was more than happy to take a break from the screaming
governor and irate humanitarian lady (although we both
once more agreed that she was a looker). I’d called the
XO Marty, which made him wince, but I was trying to
gain his trust.
“I’m wondering if you guys could move up a couple
of Bradleys, put them way into the defile. Do it about oh
two hundred.”
“Why?”
“I want the Taliban in the mountains to focus on you
guys to the west and not us.”
“Did you ask the CO?”
“I’m asking you.”
He thought a moment. “I see. And what do I get in
return?”
I ticked them off with my fingers: “Money, power,
fame, hookers, and booze.”
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269
He grinned. “You prima donnas in SF are clever bas-
tards. But I’m serious—what’s in it for me?”
“What do you want?”
“How about a healthy dose of respect?”
“Marty, you got to earn that on your own, but two
Bradleys would make one hell of a down payment in my
eyes.”
“Okay, but I can swallow this much easier with a lot
of beer.”
“You got it.”
“Two Bradleys,” he said.
“Yeah, and can you have them put up a flare when
they’re in place?”
“Wow, you really want a party.”
“You know it.”
“Well, Harruck’s been hitting the bottle a lot. I’m
sure he’ll be drunk and asleep by then . . .”
Wouldn’t you know it, lo and behold, the flare arced
high in the sky.
I whispered a thank-you to the XO.
The guys freaked out. “Relax, that’s our cue,” I told
them. “Let’s move.”
We waded through the hip-high water, holding our
AKs above our heads. The water felt thick and warm,
like motor oil, and I imagined snakes and piranhas and
other assorted demons coiling around my legs as we
made the crossing.
For the hell of it, we brought along our last two
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Cross-Coms that hadn’t been fried. Again, I wore one,
Ramirez the other. The mountain pass looked clear as
we neared the bottom. In fact, several combatants had
shifted over to where the flare had gone up. I counted at
least fifteen enemy fighters on that side of the mountain,
keeping a close watch on the Bradleys, the red diamonds
floating over each of their positions in my HUD.
We began our ascent, the path rock-strewn and as
rugged as I’d expected. Though we’d dressed like Tal-
iban, the one exception was our boots. We wouldn’t give
up our combat boots for a pair of sandals, not in those
mountains. And when it came time to boogie, we sure
as hell shouldn’t worry about stubbing our toes.
But our heavy boots, now filled with water, squished
and slogged as we climbed, and I grew annoyed that we
couldn’t move more quietly.
A data bar opened in my HUD, showing an image of
a Predator drone flying high above the mountain range.
The image switched to an officer in his cockpit, which
was—quite remarkably—on the other side of the world
inside a trailer at Nellis Air Force Base in Las Vegas.
“Ghost Lead, this is Predator Control, over.”
“Go ahead, Predator.”
“We have visual confirmation of your target tunnel.