Текст книги "Ghost recon : Combat ops"

Автор книги: David Michaels

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

combat” the same way the kid had, then no one would

be the wiser.

After all, he’d told me he had nothing else in his life.

In the middle of the desert, in one-hundred-degree-

plus heat, an intense chill ran up my spine. What if Joey

did find some way to off me? No one would know.

I couldn’t bear that thought.

EIGHTEEN

It took another thirty minutes to finally get Gordon on

the line, and we switched to a video call, which was a

little grainy, with some boxy dropouts, but I still could

note the old colonel’s deep concern.

“You know I’m caught in the middle here, Scott. I

didn’t want to send Warris. Keating’s taking a lot of heat,

and he’s got no choice but to pass the buck. You know how

this works. I’m getting ready to tell them all where to go.”

“Me, too. Well, there’s no media here, so unless

Zahed and his people get on Al Jazeera, we’ll be okay. I

don’t know about his contacts in that department, but

suffice it to say we haven’t got much time.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Obviously, you want me to rescue Warris.”

CO MB AT O P S

189

“Not exactly.”

I sighed deeply. That phrase was becoming a knife in

my back. Then again, maybe they were writing off the

young captain? No way. They couldn’t be. “Sir?”

“We might be able to use Warris’s capture to justify a

big offensive in the area. It’s what that place really needs

anyway. Some big units moving through and sweeping

out the cockroaches. It’s too damned corrupt to send

you guys in there to take out one man. The guy’s laying

low, and if he does move, they’ve got him disguised. We

even thought they might’ve moved him in a body bag

from one part of the village to another. I’ve got nothing

actionable to hand you at this point.”

“So you’re giving up on my mission?”

“No, you’ve still got time to do what you can. It’ll

take another two weeks for the logistics to be worked

out. They’ll need to pull some people out of Helmand.

But once that happens, Zahed won’t know what hit him.

However, the Ghosts can save face by pulling Zahed out

of there before the hammer drops.”

“So you want me to get Zahed and rescue Warris, but

you want me to take my time on the rescue op.”

“Obviously this call is not being recorded and the trans-

mission is fully encrypted,” he said with a wink. “Other-

wise, I wouldn’t confirm that. But hell yes, son, you need to

begin some negotiations, but buy us the time on our end.”

“What if they torture him? What if he spills his guts

to those bastards?”

“We’ll have to take the hit, because higher believes

that securing Kandahar and the outlying areas—”

190 GH OS T RE CON

“You don’t need to finish,” I told him while sighing

in disgust.

I leaned back from the cubicle and glanced around

the comm center. I was wearing headphones and the

screen had glare protection, so no one could peer over

my shoulders.

And at that moment, I stopped calling him “sir.” I’d

known Buzz Gordon for a very long time, and that was

the most tense few moments I’ve ever had with a CO.

“Buzz, I need your advice on something.”

“Glad I’m still good for something.”

“I, uh, I can’t tell you everything.”

“Scott, it’s me.”

“I know, I know.” I took a deep breath and spoke

slowly. “I’ve got a problem with Ramirez. I want you to

know that if something happens to me, you’ll need to

confine and question him. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Whoa, what the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying I got a problem.”

“Scott, what’s going on out there?”

“If it comes down to it, I just want you to question

Ramirez, all right?”

“I’m shocked. He’s one of the top five operators we

have, and you’re telling me you think he’s going to frag

you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why would he want to do that, Scott?”

“Like I said, I’m not in a position to tell you every-

thing.”

“You don’t need to protect me.”

CO MB AT O P S

191

“I know. I’m trying to save my own ass here.”

“So let me give you the company line here: You’re the

on-scene commander, and I expect and trust you to

resolve the situation in a professional and expeditious

manner. You have been and will continue to be put in

situations where you have two competing obligations.”

“I understand.”

“And now as a friend and fellow soldier, I’ll tell you

this: If Ramirez is a problem—in the way that you

suggest—then, for the good of the Ghosts, for the good

of all operators, you need to address that problem.”

“In any way I can?”

“That’s right.”

“Would you consider that an order?”

“You know I can’t.”

I sighed and closed my eyes. “Yeah . . .”

“Scott, I wasn’t aware it’s gotten that bad.”

I couldn’t meet his gaze. “Well, Harruck’s baby-

sitting the governor on our base, the spook is working

on something that involves the Chinese smuggling in

HER F guns, and the local police and Army are nonexis-

tent. So yeah, it’s pretty bad.”

Gordon shook his head. “Two weeks, Scott. Get Zahed.

If you wind up rescuing Warris early, then do it if you

have to, but if you can sit on your hands, then do that,

too.”

“All right.”

I couldn’t help but rejoice over his order to delay res-

cuing Warris. And I couldn’t believe the irony of that,

either. Warris’s capture was giving them an excuse to

192 GH OS T RE CON

break out the big guns and finally put some steel on ter-

rorist targets. Maybe they were realizing that COIN

operations needed some teeth behind them.

Then again, I wondered how effective even a major

offensive might be. Word would get back to Zahed that

forces were moving toward Sangsar, and he would just

skip town until the fireworks were over. Then he’d come

back and set up shop once more. Just a vicious circle. We

had to get him before he left. They needed to cordon off

that entire village.

When I left the comm center, I got word from the

main gate that someone had come to see me: Shilmani. I

went out there and had a seat on the tailgate of his water

truck. “What are you doing here?”

“I want to help you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Do you trust me?”

I shouldn’t have hesitated. But I did. “Okay, I trust

you.”

“Then change your clothes. Burki wants to see you.

I’ll wait here for you.”

“We always travel in pairs. I’ll need to bring another

soldier.”

He didn’t flinch. “Okay.”

When I walked into our billet, several of the guys came

over to me, and Brown said, “We think Ramirez is sick.

He’s been throwing up since you guys got back. Nolan’s

taking him to the hospital.”

CO MB AT O P S

193

“Oh, okay, good. Treehorn?”

The big guy looked up at me from his bunk. “Yeah,

boss?”

“Get dressed like an Afghan. We’re going for a little

ride.”

“You got it.”

I headed to the back of the billet, where Nolan was

handing a canteen to Ramirez. “Come on, bro. You need

to go over there.”

Ramirez, who was wearing only his skivvies now,

shook his head.

“Hey, Joey, you okay?” I asked, my tone more of a

challenge than an expression of concern.

He could barely face me. “Perfect.”

“Then why are you throwing up? You didn’t look sick

a little while ago . . .”

He snorted. “You see that crap they’re serving in the

mess hall? I guess it takes a while to seep into your

guts.”

“Well, I hope you feel better. Soon.” I walked back to

my bunk and began changing. Before I was finished,

Nolan and Ramirez pushed past me and headed outside.

Brown lifted his head from his bunk. “Hey, Captain?

Everything okay? I’m getting some bad vibes from you

and Joey.”

“We’re cool. I’m just worried about him.”

“We’re worried about you.”

I drew back my head. “Me?”

“Yeah. You got a lot of pressure. We lost Matt. Warris

is out there. We get new orders yet?”

194 GH OS T RE CON

I gave a short nod. “I’ll brief you guys when we get

back.”

Shilmani drove Treehorn and me to one of two shacks

positioned along more foothills on the far west side of

the town. The shacks rose improbably from the dirt and

pockmarked hills, and they looked as though they’d

been there for centuries. Long rows of water jugs were

stacked on a rickety framework, and two more pickup

trucks were parked behind them.

Two men with AK-47s sat on the roof of one shack,

and the rickety ladder they’d used to ascend to their

perch leaned against one wall, casting a long shadow.

They eyed our group with deep suspicion, and I was

glad to move into the cooler shadows of the first shack,

where the water man sat on a thick carpet and sipped

tea, along with a much younger man, who suddenly shot

to his feet as we entered.

Shilmani gestured that we take seats on the crimson-

colored toshak.

“We’ll have some tea first,” said Burki.

“Thank you,” I said, settling down on the cushion

and making sure the soles of my feet were not showing.

I muttered for Treehorn to do likewise and to remove

his sunglasses.

Shilmani poured us cups of tea, which we quickly

accepted.

The young man stood in the corner, just watching us.

CO MB AT O P S

195

His beard was short, his eyes fiery. If he had a weapon,

I’d say he wanted to use it on us, but thus far he appeared

unarmed.

“How is the new well coming? I haven’t had time to

go out there.”

Burki’s English wasn’t very good. Shilmani translated,

and Burki said, “Oh, good, good, good. A lot of water!”

“He sounds happy,” I said to Shilmani.

“He is. Even with the Taliban cutting into our prof-

its, we’ll still have a very good year. The solar-powered

pump is a brilliant idea.”

“Not mine,” I said.

“But great nonetheless.”

“How are your wife and children?” I asked.

“Very well,” he answered. “Perhaps some time you

could join us again for dinner. My children have a lot of

questions about America.”

“I’ll try to answer them.”

Shilmani grinned, then leered up at the young man

in the corner.

“Who is he?”

“Just the bodyguard.”

“He wants to kill me,” I said.

“Me, too,” Shilmani said with a smile. “I hate him.”

Burki leaned forward and gave me a long appraising

stare. “I want you to kill Zahed,” he said slowly.

I drew back my head and looked at Shilmani, who

simply nodded.

“What’s going on now?” I asked.

196 GH OS T RE CON

Shilmani spoke quickly, “We had a deal with Zahed

for the water coming out of the new well, but he has

chosen to break that deal and increase his demands. So

we have chosen to kill him—and we will hire you to do

the job.”

“Okay,” I said matter-of-factly.

Treehorn looked at me: Are you nuts?

I winked at him. Then faced Burki and made the

money sign. “How much will you pay me?”

He looked at Shilmani and spoke rapidly, and I could

only ferret out every third word.

“He says we’ll pay you with information rather than

money.”

“Tell him I said that’s very clever and I appreciate this

offer. I will kill Zahed. How can he help me?”

Shilmani and Burki spoke again, then Shilmani said,

“We will set up a meeting for you and Zahed. He will

think you are one of the opium smugglers I told him

about. You will come with us. And when the door closes,

you will put a bullet in his head.”

“Okay.”

“Captain, I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”

I looked at Treehorn. “Thanks. No other opinions

needed.” I faced Burki. “How soon can we meet with

Zahed?”

“Soon.”

I turned to Shilmani. “Ask him about our captured

man. Does he know where our guy is being held?”

After a moment of conversation, Shilmani turned to

CO MB AT O P S

197

me and shook his head. “No idea. But Zahed would want

to question him himself, so probably in Sangsar.”

“Ask him what he thinks the best-protected place is in

that town.”

Shilmani did. Both men laughed. Shilmani turned to

me. “He says the police station. The jail. But it is prob-

ably too obvious.”

We had dozens of maps and intelligence on Sangsar,

but sometimes that intel did not indicate the function of

some buildings unless streaming satellite video of the

comings and goings of the inhabitants made it obvious—

or if there was, of course, a sign on the building.

I drew an imaginary rectangle across the carpet and

said, “Can you tell me in what part of the town we would

find that building?”

Shilmani already knew. He pointed directly in the mid-

dle of the rectangle. I sighed. Of course—as deep into the

town as you could get.

“So if I kill Zahed, your boss gets to keep all of the

profits.”

“That’s what he thinks, but you and I know better.”

“We do?”

“There’s always another man to take over for Zahed.”

“Yes, there is. Do you know who that might be?”

“I have a cousin who works as a courier for Zahed.”

“You do? Why did you wait to tell me?”

“To protect him. And my family.”

“I see.”

“I will get more information from him.”

198 GH OS T RE CON

I finished my tea and smiled at Burki. “I really appre-

ciate this help.”

He raised a brow. “Okay, okay.” He made a gun with

his fingers. “You kill Zahed.

As we drove back through the town, we took a side street

that ran parallel to the bazaar. A few kids on old bicycles

were racing along the street and pointing as they passed

the alleys. A huge crowd had gathered along the shops

and stalls, and I could see people throwing things into

the center square. Were those rocks? I couldn’t quite tell.

“What’s going on?” I asked Shilmani.

“Nothing. Never mind. We have to keep going.”

“No way,” I said. “Pull over.”

“Please, Scott. You don’t want to go there.”

“Why not?”

“Because you won’t understand.”

“You heard me. Stop this car.”

Shilmani took a deep breath. “You have to promise

that if I stop, you will not interfere.”

“What are you talking about?”

He pulled over, threw the car in park. “You’ll see.”

NINETEEN

Harruck had never mentioned this issue to me, and I

later found out that he’d known all along and had simply

been hiding it. The news was simply another of the bur-

dens he’d carried on his shoulders, and it made me

understand—at least a bit more—why his stress level was

constantly in the red zone.

I ran down the alley and reached the back of the crowd.

Treehorn and Shilmani were just behind me.

There, in the middle of the road, was a brown sack,

but when I got closer, I realized that a person was cov-

ered in that sack and buried up to the shoulders. The

person was struggling, so I had to assume the hands were

tied behind the back.

“Boss, is that what I think it is?” cried Treehorn.

200 GH OS T RE CON

“Aw, jeez.” I gasped.

A circle had been drawn in the road around the vic-

tim, and no one stepped inside that circle. From the

periphery, they threw their stones, occasionally hitting

the person in the head. Each time a stone made direct

contact, the crowd roared.

“I did not want you to see this,” said Shilmani. “And

I did not realize it would happen so soon. We would

have planned the meeting another day.”

“Why is this happening?” I asked as the crowd

chanted God is greatand my mouth fell open.

“This is retribution for her sins.”

“Her sins? What the hell did she do to deserve this?”

Shilmani didn’t answer. A rock crashed into the wom-

an’s head, and the sack began to stain with blood. The

crowd grew even louder, and a blood frenzy now widened

the eyes of those nearest the circle’s edge. The women hur-

tled their rocks even more fiercely than the men. I started

forward, but Shilmani grabbed me—as did Treehorn.

“If you interfere, you will commit a crime,” said Shil-

mani.

“Okay, okay,” I said, fighting for breath and relaxing

my arms so they could release me.

“Her hands are tied behind her back, but if she can

escape the circle, she will be free,” Shilmani explained.

“She’s only buried up to her shoulders to give her a

fighting chance. Men are buried up to their heads.”

“You didn’t answer my question. What did she do?”

“She had sex outside marriage.”

CO MB AT O P S

201

“I knew it,” said Treehorn. “These women can’t do

anything without getting punished for it.”

“We’d have to kill most American women if this were

our rule,” I said.

“I know. It seems you Americans engage in this

behavior quite a bit.”

“It just happens,” I said.

Shilmani made a face. “I still don’t understand how

he convinced her to do it.”

“You mean the guy?”

He hardened his voice. “Yes, the American soldier

from your camp.”

I considered going to Harruck’s office and telling him

what I’d seen, but I realized the men needed something

from me. And I felt badly for them. They’d been lying

around the billet all day, just wondering what the hell

was happening.

Ramirez had come back from the hospital with some

antacid to soothe his stomach. He was lying in his bunk

with his arm draped over his eyes.

I called the group forward, and after a few seconds,

he was the last to gather around.

“Got a couple things going on. We’ll be back up in

the mountains tonight. Engineering op. We’re going to

blow those tunnels.”

“Hoo-ah,” shouted Brown and Smith in unison.

“I want to do everything we can to avoid engaging

202 GH OS T RE CON

the enemy. They don’t call us the Ghosts for nothing.

We’ll show them why.”

Hume raised his hand. “Any word back on the HER F

guns yet? Do we know if they’ve got more?”

“I know the spook is working on something, and we

have to assume they have more. Nolan, we still got two

spare Cross-Coms, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Good, I’ll be taking one and Joey’s got the other.”

Ramirez frowned at me.

He was still in command of Bravo team. I wasn’t

going to change anything. I’d decided that my paranoia

should have no effect on the way I ran my team. And in

retrospect, I think that was a good decision.

Up to a point.

“Something else going on you should know about.” I

looked to Treehorn, who just sighed. “The water guy?

Burki? He wants us to kill Zahed. Seems the fat bastard

screwed him over on the deal with the new well, so that

guy, the translator guy Shilmani, is going to help us set

up a meeting with Zahed.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Brown. “How’s that going

to work? You don’t plan to go in there alone, do you?”

“Shilmani says he’s got a cousin who’s a courier for

Zahed. I’ll probably be going in with him.”

“And when does this happen?” asked Nolan, wincing

over the whole idea.

“Pretty soon, I’m guessing.”

“Then we need to work something out. The HER F

CO MB AT O P S

203

guns don’t affect the chips in our bodies, so we can still

track you.”

“You mean in case they take me prisoner.”

“So let me get this straight,” said Ramirez. “You’re

going to walk into a meeting, put a bullet in Zahed’s

head, and expect to walk out of there alive?”

“With a little help from you guys.”

The group chuckled. Ramirez’s expression remained

deadpan. “Boss, I think it’s crazy.”

“Couple other things,” I said. “Higher’s planning a

big offensive to sweep through Sangsar. They’re using

Warris’s capture as an excuse. It’ll take them a couple of

weeks to work out the logistics, so we need to drag our

boots on Freddy’s rescue . . .”

“Hey,” Treehorn began, throwing up his hands. “I

got no problem with that, since that punk wants to burn

us all.”

“All right. Let’s go over the maps, plan the detona-

tion points, and be ready to roll for tonight.”

The call came in while I was finishing up dinner in the

mess hall. I remember stepping out there, looking at the

mountains haloed by the setting sun, and thinking, This

is it. This is the death call.

That was a very long walk to the comm center.

I was feeling numb by the time they guided me over

to the cubicle, and my brother’s voice sounded strangely

absent.

204 GH OS T RE CON

“Hello, Scott, this is your brother Nicholas.”

He was always so formal, so well educated and schol-

arly. He always talked about being articulate. I didn’t

want him articulate at that moment. I wanted him sob-

bing.

“Hey, Nick.” My voice was already cracking.

“Dad passed away about an hour ago.”

“Okay.”

“Can you come home? We can delay the funeral for

you, but I’ll need to know as soon as possible.”

Before I could answer him, a commotion behind me

caught my attention. I told him to hang on.

A group of officers and NCOs was gathered around a

flat screen, where a videotape was being played on the Al

Jazeera network.

There was Fred Warris, dressed like a Taliban and sit-

ting cross-legged with a group of Taliban fighters stand-

ing behind him. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but

that didn’t matter.

I told Nick I’d call him back. I drifted outside like a

zombie and just stood near the door. I closed my eyes

and thought of my father’s workshop, filled with the

heavenly scent of sawdust. And I pictured his handmade

coffin propped up on those sawhorses. I was also certain

he’d left detailed instructions about his funeral.

I could take the emergency leave. Just bail out on all

the bullshit. Maybe not even come back. Maybe just go

AWOL and let them arrest me. I was entertaining every

crazy thought I could, thinking of ways to self-destruct

to hold back the tears.

CO MB AT O P S

205

My father had taught me how to be a man. I owed

him everything. He was gone.

I don’t know how long I was standing there when

Harruck and the XO rushed up and Harruck just looked

at me. “Have you heard? They put Warris on TV!”

The terms for Warris’s release, presented by the man

himself in the video, were quite simple: Stop all construc-

tion in Senjaray. Pull the U.S. Army company out. Pay

the equivalent of five hundred thousand American dol-

lars. Release nearly a dozen captured Taliban fighters and

leaders.

I was sitting in the comm center on a conference video

call with General Keating, Lieutenant Colonel Gordon,

and Harruck’s battalion commander.

“We’re not going to negotiate with these bastards,”

said Keating. “And I’m going to make sure we step up

our timetable. I want a full-scale raid to happen within

the next seven days. I want to make that happen. I don’t

care what it takes.”

Gordon just shrugged.

Harruck’s boss was a yes man.

I shook my head in disgust.

“Mitchell, you got a problem with all this?”

“Sir, you told me I wouldn’t have any air support for

this mission, and unless that’s changed, we’ll be moving

in much too slowly with a large force. Zahed’s got spies

planted all over this district. He’ll see our ground forces

coming in, and he’ll be out of there long before they

206 GH OS T RE CON

arrive. You won’t get him, and I doubt you’ll get Warris.

We need to be dropped by chopper. Shock and awe.

That’s the only way it’ll work.”

“I’d have to agree with Mitchell,” said Harruck. “We

can’t afford to blow this. We can’t afford any counterat-

tacks down here. We’re making great progress so far.”

I sat there, debating whether I should tell them about

Burki and my plan to have a face-to-face meeting with

Zahed. Part of me considered the idea that if I managed

to bring in the guy alive, I’d be a hero and they could

call off the whole offensive and save the taxpayers a lot of

money. The other part of me, the realist, said, no, that

probably wouldn’t happen; the offensive would go on

because Keating was very upset now, and the old man

would have his blood. So nabbing Zahed wouldn’t affect

that outcome.

But I was intrigued by the idea of talking to Zahed.

Perhaps I was suicidal, but the fat man had caused so

much trouble in the area, created so many headaches, that

I just wouldn’t be satisfied until I met him in the flesh.

And if I presented that cup of soup to “the commit-

tee,” they’d all want to pee in it, thinking it’d taste bet-

ter. A crude but accurate metaphor.

Perhaps, I quipped to myself, we should change our

name to Rogue Recon.

Then I realized once again that if I didn’t tell them

what I had in mind, we’d be digging ourselves deeper

graves. So I just took a breath and spilled the beans:

“Gentlemen, I’m in the process of setting up a meet-

ing with Zahed.”

CO MB AT O P S

207

“Are you serious, Mitchell?” asked Keating.

“Yes, General, I am. One of my contacts in the village

works for the water man, who wants me to kill Zahed.

My contact has a cousin who works for the fat man him-

self. Let me go in there and talk to them.”

“No, not you, Mitchell,” snapped Harruck. “We’ll

send in a professional negotiator.”

I started laughing. “I’ve got the translator, and

they’re setting me up as an opium smuggler, so once I

get in there, we’ll spring the trap on Zahed. There won’t

be any negotiations.”

“Now that sounds like a plan,” said Keating. “We don’t

sit around and chat while they’re about to chop the head

off an American soldier. What do you need, Mitchell?”

I faced Harruck and the others on their screens. “I

just need to be left alone so I can do my job, sir. And I

need evac when the fireworks begin.”

Harruck was shaking his head. “General, with all due

respect, sir, don’t you think an ambush operation like

this can do more harm than good? If Mitchell fails,

they’ll behead Warris on TV, and they’ll all be gone

before we can launch our offensive. It’s a lose-lose, if you

ask me.”

“We didn’t ask you, Captain. And Mitchell will not

fail.”

Keating looked at me.

I gave him a curt nod. “My team is heading up into the

mountains tonight. There’s a small cave network they’ll

try to use to get down into the valley and attack the school

and police station. We’re going to blow it up.”

208 GH OS T RE CON

“Maybe we should delay that operation until you

meet with Zahed,” said Gordon.

“Colonel, I’d prefer to take care of that first.” I gave

Gordon an emphatic look.

“All right, Captain, understood.”

I wanted to blow the caves first in case I didn’t make

it back. Maybe I was growing a soft heart, but I kept

imagining Anderson standing out there with those con-

struction workers and those school kids and all of them

dying under a hail of bullets. The cave network, like the

bridge we’d blown, was an avenue of approach that needed

to be eliminated.

After the meeting, Harruck pulled me aside and said,

“I’ll have a Bradley and rifle squad ready for you.”

I softened my tone. “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry, Scott, but this is, as far as I’m concerned,

the beginning of the end for you.”

“Why’s that?”

“If you do get that meeting with Zahed, I don’t think

you’ll come back. I think you’re making a huge mistake.

I don’t know what this is about . . . your ego . . . you try-

ing to prove something to higher. You should’ve been

relieved.”

“And that’s the difference between you and me.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve got faith in that fat old bastard.”

“Zahed?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

CO MB AT O P S

209

“Because I’ve got something he wants—all that water

from the new well. He’s been cut off. He won’t like it.”

“So what you’re saying is you aregoing to negotiate

with him.”

“Not exactly . . .”

I grinned because I couldn’t believe I’d used those

words, but I had.

T WENTY

About an hour before we were set to leave on the demo

mission, Harruck came out to our billet, and the expres-

sion on his face didn’t look promising. The guys groaned,

figuring the mission was off and that higher had more

politically correct plans in mind.

But it turned out that my sister had notified the Army

of my father’s passing. I wasn’t going to say anything,

not even to the team.

“Scott, I’m very sorry to hear about your father.” He

then explained how he’d heard.

“It’s all right. Thanks.”

“You should have told us. You need to go home. You

need to pay your respects.”

“Would that make it easier for you?”

CO MB AT O P S

211

He tensed, glanced away a moment, then faced me.

“Forget all this bullshit. I’m talking to you as a friend.”

“I thought our friendship was over.”

“I’m trying to keep this professional. Not personal.”

I couldn’t repress my sigh of disgust. “Good luck

with that. Well, thanks for coming out, then.”

“So, you’re not taking a leave?”

I snorted. “I e-mailed my brother. I’ve already told

him I can’t come.”

“You’re putting this in front of your father’s funeral?

Are you sure? Are you sure you won’t regret this for the

rest of your life?”

“Simon, I lost a guy here. I’ve got another guy who

was captured. One of your men got killed while up there

with me. I’ve got a young captain trying to help a village.

I just can’t walk away now. I won’t regret it. My family

understands. My dad would understand.”

He took a deep breath, gave a curt nod. “All right.

Good luck, then.”

I’d missed more births, birthdays, anniversaries, holi-

days, and even funerals than I could remember. It didn’t

get any easier. In fact, it got harder, and every time I

spoke to my brothers or my sister on the phone, I had to

reassure myself that the life I’d chosen was the right one

because the distance between me and “the real world”

grew larger every year.

And yes, I’d lied to Harruck. My brothers and sister

would not understand. They would never tell me, but I

could see it in their eyes, quite clearly. My sister once

told me that I never did anything for myself. That wasn’t

212 GH OS T RE CON

true. But as I stood there, watching Harruck go, I

couldn’t help but resent some of the sacrifices, and I sur-

rendered to the guilt of not attending my father’s funeral

because yes, I’d put my job first. I’d given a lot to the

Army, to the Ghosts, but missing Dad’s funeral . . .

maybe that was too much.

We hitched a ride aboard one of the supply Chinooks,

and we had that pilot drop us off about a kilometer east

of the mountains. We set down in a well-protected valley

not far from our FARP (Forward Arming and Resupply

Point), used by gunships, Blackhawks, and Chinooks

alike, so our bird was not a curious sight in that zone.

We would hike in with less chance of being detected by

Taliban fighters posted along cliffs that overlooked the

village. Their gazes would be trained on the more obvi-

ous lines of approach, and we’d be coming up on their

flank.

Ramirez and I wore the two Cross-Coms so we could

easily detect friend from foe, but the others were blind

because of the last HER F gun blast, so our Alpha and

Bravo teams would need to stick together. Treehorn, our

one-man Charlie “team” and sniper, would be posted

outside the main exit tunnel we’d chosen, ready to pick

off anyone who pursued us. We chose not to wear body

armor to move more swiftly through the tunnels. Again,

my plan was to avoid all enemy contact.

Yes, that was the plan. Would it survive the first

enemy contact? Of course not.

CO MB AT O P S

213

A remarkably cool breeze tugged at our turbans and

shemaghs, and if you spotted us hiking along the ridges,

you would swear we were drug smugglers or Taliban.

Ramirez was more quiet than usual, but I think he

appreciated my business-as-usual attitude, even if it was

a disguise. The mission took priority. We both knew

that.

But I would still keep a sharp eye on him. He led Jen-