I gave him a nod. He descended, then gave us the sig-
naclass="underline" All clear for now.
We followed him down to find another tunnel head-
ing straight off then turning sharply to the right.
“Damn, this place is huge,” whispered Hume.
Several small wheelbarrows were lined up near the
stacks of opium, and I got an idea. We piled a few stacks
into one barrow, and then Brown led the way, pushing
the wheelbarrow with Hume and me at his shoulders.
We were happy drug smugglers now, and we’d shout
that we had orders to move the opium.
We reached the turn and nearly ran straight into a
guy heading our way. He started shouting at Brown in
Pashto: “What are you guys doing?”
Well, I thought we’d have time to explain. But I just
shot him in the head. He fell, and Brown got the wheel-
barrow around him while Hume grabbed the guy’s arms
and I took the legs. We carried him quickly back to the
chamber and left him there. Then we hustled back after
Brown and found the tunnel sweeping downward at
about a twenty-degree angle. Brown nearly lost control
of the wheelbarrow until we finally reached the bottom
and began to hear voices. Faint. Pashto.
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281
Maybe it was the adrenaline or the thought that out-
side our guys would soon be confronted, but I shifted
around Brown and ran forward, farther down the tun-
nel, rushing right into another chamber with about ten
sleeping areas arranged on the floor: carpets and heavy
blankets all lined up like a barracks.
I took it all in.
A single lantern burned atop a small wooden crate,
and two Taliban were sitting up in bed and talking
while six or seven others were sleeping.
I shot the first two guys almost immediately, with
Hume and Brown rushing in behind me and opening
fire, the rounds silenced, the killing point-blank, brutal,
and instantaneous.
Killing men while they slept was ugly business, and I
tried not to look too closely. They’d return in my night-
mares anyway, so I focused my attention on a curious
sight near the crate holding the lantern—a pair of mili-
tary boots, the same ones we wore. I picked them up,
placed them near mine to judge the size.
“Warris’s?” Brown whispered to me.
I shrugged. We checked our magazines, then headed
on, still pushing the wheelbarrow.
The next tunnel grew much more narrow, and we
had to turn sideways to pass through one section. As the
rock wall dragged against my shirt, I imagined the tun-
nel tightening like a fist, the air forced from my collaps-
ing lungs, and I began to panic. A quick look to the
right said relief was just ahead.
Brown had to abandon the wheelbarrow, of course,
282 GH OS T RE CON
and once we made it onto the other side, the passage
grew much wider, as revealed by Brown’s light.
My nose crinkled as a nasty odor began clinging to
the air, like a broken sewer pipe, and the others cringed
as well. Our shemaghsdid nothing to help. I didn’t want
to believe that the Taliban had created an “outhouse”
inside the cave, but judging from the smell, they might
have resorted to that.
I stifled a cough as we shuffled farther, almost reluc-
tantly now. The odor grew worse. We reached a T-shaped
intersection, where the real stench came from the right,
and I thought my eyes were tearing.
Brown shoved down his shemagh, held his nose, and
indicated that he did not want to go down the right tunnel.
And that’s exactly where I signaled for him to go.
He shook his head vigorously.
I widened my eyes. Do it.
And then I began to gag, caught myself, and we
pressed on. I held the shemaghtighter to my nose and
mouth without much relief.
A voice came from behind us, the words in Pashto:
“What’s going on now?”
Hume turned back and Brown raised his light.
It was a young Taliban fighter, his AK hanging from
his shoulder as he raised his palms in confusion.
He squinted at us more deeply until Brown directed
the light into his eyes.
I couldn’t see, but I think Hume shot him. Thump.
Down. The body count was racking up too swiftly for
my taste, but the presence of those boots gave me hope.
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283
We left that guy where he fell and forged on toward
the terrible stink.
“I can barely breathe,” said Hume.
“Just keep going,” I told him.
The ground grew more damp, and up ahead, about
twenty meters, were a pair of broad wooden planks tra-
versing another hole in the ground, the result of yet a
second cave-in, I guessed. Just before the hole another
tunnel jogged off to the left, with faint light shifting at
its far end. At the intersection, I saw that the other tun-
nel to our right curved upward and the night sky shone
beyond—a way out, but on which side of the mountain
range? I was disoriented.
And then from the other side of the hole and the planks
came two Taliban, rifles lowered but still ready to snap up.
They were talking to each other when they spotted me
and Brown, and one looked up, shouted something.
I shot the guy who screamed.
Brown fired at the other one . . . and missed! That
bastard took off running and hollering like a maniac.
And from behind us, down in the hole, where the
stench of human feces and urine rose to an ungodly
level, a muffled cry rose and echoed up across the rock.
T WENT Y-SEVEN
I charged after the guy who’d sprinted away, my heart
drumming in my ears. The tunnel curved abruptly to
the left and then made an abrupt right turn. The guy
reached a ladder at the tunnel’s dead end and started up
it. I shot him before he made it halfway, and he came
down with a heavy thud, shaking and raising his hands
in surrender. Under different circumstances, I might
have taken him prisoner. Instead, I shot him again, then
swung around, saw the lantern lighting the path in one
corner and more stacks of opium, along with crates and
boxes of ammunition.
Someone shouted a name, then asked, “Where are
you?” in Pashto.
I stole a quick breath, glanced up.
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There, framed by the hole in the ceiling, was a man
leaning down, his bearded face glowing in the lantern. I
gritted my teeth and shot him, too, in the face. He came
tumbling down and crashed onto the first guy. He was
older, gray beard, his body trembling, nerves misfiring.
Still riding the massive wave of adrenaline, I mounted
the ladder, which I guessed led into another chamber. I
was about to reach the top and turn around when some-
one rushed into the tunnel below, startling the hell out
of me.
“Boss!” Brown whispered.
I came down two rungs, my heart palpitating. Brown
was waving at me to come back, his teeth bared.
“What?”