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Chapters (39)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Acknowledgements
  4. Epigraph
  5. ONE
  6. TWO
  7. THREE
  8. FOUR
  9. FIVE
  10. SIX
  11. SEVEN
  12. EIGHT
  13. NINE
  14. TEN
  15. ELEVEN
  16. TWELVE
  17. THIRTEEN
  18. FOURTEEN
  19. FIFTEEN
  20. SIXTEEN
  21. SEVENTEEN
  22. EIGHTEEN
  23. NINETEEN
  24. TWENTY
  25. TWENTY-ONE
  26. TWENTY-TWO
  27. TWENTY-THREE
  28. TWENTY-FOUR
  29. TWENTY-FIVE
  30. TWENTY-SIX
  31. TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. TWENTY-NINE
  34. THIRTY
  35. THIRTY-ONE
  36. THIRTY-TWO
  37. THIRTY-THREE
  38. THIRTY-FOUR
  39. THIRTY-FIVE

But the other three terrorists shouted to each other, and in the next heartbeat, Mitchell found himself in a hailstorm of incoming fire.

"Scott," Rutang hollered on the radio. "Get out of there!"

THREE

THREE

BASILAN ISLAND
SULU ARCHIPELAGO, SOUTHERN PHILIPPINES
AUGUST 2002

With Rutang's cry still ringing in his earpiece, Mitchell launched himself into the air and crashed into a long puddle at the base of the hillside, the water rushing over his head and blinding him for a moment until he came up, rolled onto his right side, and returned fire on the three men now emerging from the trees.

He dropped one, panned toward the second, but was surprised to watch that guy stagger back, his chest bursting apart.

Off to Mitchell's right, Rutang was on his gut and directing steady fire toward that guy, emptying his magazine.

Mitchell clambered to his feet, just as the third and final thug charged toward Rutang's position, knowing that Rutang was reloading. Mitchell rushed to the next tree, froze, tracked the man, and fired, the first burst catching him in the leg. The terrorist began limping, turned back to face Mitchell, opened his mouth to scream, and swallowed Mitchell's next volley.

"Rutang? Looks clear for now. Hold it there, over."

"Roger that."

Taking in a deep breath, Mitchell charged from the tree, racing hard and fast toward Rutang's position on the other side of the narrow valley. He wove a serpentine path, feeling the heat of imaginary fire--until he didn't need his imagination anymore. Another squad of terrorists targeted him from above, AK-47s popping, the trees and mud suddenly alive with fire.

"Black Tiger 06, this is Ricochet, over!"

"Go ahead, Ricochet," answered Captain Yano, his voice faint as gunfire boomed in the background.

"Stand by to receive my new GPS, over."

"Give me a minute, Ricochet! We're still taking heavy, heavy fire!"

"Roger that. I'll signal in a few minutes, out."

Nearly out of breath, Mitchell slashed through a path heavily draped in vines, then came up behind Rutang's position and cried, "Rutang, coming up!"

"Okay, Scott."

Rutang lay on his side just behind a pair of small palm trees. He was using the secondary blade of his Blackhawk Mark 1 knife to slice open his pants leg. In his other hand was a big trauma bandage that he summarily slapped on the wound with a gasp and groan. Then he cursed and said, "That hurts."

"I know, buddy." Mitchell turned his gaze just ahead. "Billy, how you doing?"

Billy Bermudez, the team's assistant weapons sergeant, lay bare-chested on his back, his young face creased in pain, his M9 Beretta clutched tightly in his hand. A small incision had been made between his ribs and a tube inserted to relieve the pressure. That tube now dangled from the bloody hole.

"Scott," Billy began after a labored breath, "I'm not so good."

"He's got a hemopneumothorax, but the tube will help for now," said Rutang.