Three had gone up so far, one aimed at them and the others at the additional choppers they had in the air. The aim and trajectories were so erratic, though, that Rapp was starting to wonder if they were rockets at all. If he had to bet, he’d say they were some kind of glorified firework that Auma used to keep the Ugandans off balance.

Rapp leaned out the chopper’s open door and sighted through a thermal scope mounted to a Sage International EBR M14. Gray splashes of human heat were visible through the canopy, but they appeared and disappeared like ghosts. The chance of getting off a kill shot from his current position was pretty much zero—too much movement from the aircraft, too much foliage, and too much erratic movement from potential targets.

He’d hoped to bring some heavier weaponry to bear, but the American team hadn’t been able to outpace their pursuers enough to discern who was who. Auma’s men—as undisciplined as they were—had the home field advantage and superior numbers. They also didn’t seem concerned about friendly fire, which allowed them to come along either side of the Americans and put them in crossfires. In all likelihood, they were whacked out on ajali, a locally produced narcotic that acted like a ten-foot line of PCP-laced cocaine. According to Rapp’s intel, it made things like death, fear, and fatigue irrelevant. Users fought like wounded civet cats until either they caught a bullet or their heart gave out.

“Mitch,” Joe Maslick said over Rapp’s headphones. He was in a chopper just to the north, searching for the ambush. “We’ve found ’em and it’s not pretty. Hard to get an exact count, but I’m going to guess twenty-five guys. All dug in directly in front of our new friends. Permission to fire?”

“Fire at will.”

In the distance, two helicopters that had been invisible a moment before were lit by the muzzle flashes of their door-mounted guns.

“Lieutenant,” Rapp said over the satellite phone now linked through his headset. “We’ve located and are neutralizing the opposition ahead of you. You’re clear to pick up your pace. Keep those assholes from getting alongside you for just a few minutes.”

“Copy. We’ll go as fast as we can.”

“Understood. We’re going to drop in in front of you. Two men. We should make contact in about five minutes. Copy?”

“Two friendlies dead ahead. Contact in five.”

Rapp switched the comm back to Joe Maslick. “Mas, are you going to have that ambush cleaned up in time?”

“We’ve flushed them and they’re on the move. Driving them east and west—away from your corridor. You should be good.”

“Copy that.” Rapp looked over at Coleman in the dim red light. “We ready?”

The former SEAL finished arranging their ropes and gave him the thumbs-up.