He'd surveyed the embankment. The road had become more narrow again, and trees with thick, talonlike limbs rose on a slope just off to his left. He'd draped the heavy tow line over two thick branches and, after hooking it back over itself, he'd run back to the truck and switched on the winch. The truck slid forward, plowing up mud, but the angle was no good. The line simply dragged the truck forward and did not, as Fang had anticipated, lift it upright.

Suddenly, one limb cracked, the tow line fell slack, and the truck stopped. Fang raged aloud and rushed back to the truck to switch off the winch. He would try once more; then he would abandon the truck and take off on foot.

As he leaned forward toward the winch, something nicked his shoulder. He rolled over, felt the sharp stinging, then looked down at his uniform shirt. A small amount of blood had soaked through the fabric.

He desperately reached back for his rifle, came up with it, and began easing forward on elbows and knees, keeping tight to the truck, calculating where that shot had originated. The wound began to throb, the blood beating in his ears.

Where are you?

A shadow shifted up on the slope to his left, near the trees.

Fang swung his rifle around and opened fire, laying down a vicious salvo while screaming through the rattling and pouring rain.

The second he ceased fire, he rose, got around the truck, and charged across the road and into the thicker knots of trees and waist-high shrubs.

Mitchell knew he'd struck Fang, but the perfect head shot had turned into a slight shoulder wound, damn it. Even with the IWS's aiming assistance, he was no Diaz. He'd been shifting toward the next tree when Fang had returned fire. He crawled forward now, checking his HUD. Fang had retreated into the opposite woods.

"Ghost Lead, this is Diaz. We heard the shots. I have your position. Target is heading north, but there's a big rock wall in his way. He probably doesn't see it yet. Follow him in. You can trap him there."

"Roger that," said Mitchell, already jogging away from the slope. He stomped past Fang's truck and splashed across the road, heading toward the forest.

"Ghost Lead, this is Bravo Lead. Our ETA is two minutes. You want us to hold back with Diaz?"

"Negative. You guys take point and head on to the coast."

"Roger that, Boss."

Mitchell pushed through the weeds and grass, shifted around the next few trees, then the slope grew rockier, steeper, and he reached the next tree and crouched down as he studied the satellite image in his HUD. Fang was close.