Unsure of what had come over him, perhaps the respect he had for the American's courage, Fang set down his NVGs and lifted a brand-new assault rifle he was fielding, the T91 carbine with attached Leupold scope. The rifle wouldn't be available to the regular military until next year, but the ROC Army had issued several prototypes to its best marksmen, men like Fang who had scored in the top 5 percent of the entire ROC Army, which of course meant that if Fang wanted that terrorist with the RPG dead, he would make it happen with a single round.

Fang raised the rifle, drew in a long breath and held it, then sighted the terrorist with the RPG.

He had a clean shot.

And the terrorist was most certainly a moment away from firing.

Yet Fang knew that if he took the shot, he would give up his team's position.

He thought of the American trying to save his wounded colleague. He thought of his own men, of the hubris of the American and Filipino commanders.

And he literally shuddered with indecision, the target shifting left and right of the crosshairs.

Fang blinked hard, took another breath, and reached his decision.

FOUR

FOUR

BASILAN ISLAND
SULU ARCHIPELAGO, SOUTHERN PHILIPPINES
AUGUST 2002

The withering gunfire closing around Mitchell like a set of sharpened teeth began to taper off, and soon he heard only his breathing, his footfalls, and the soft groans coming from Carlos draped across his back.

He started up the hill toward the dust clouds still obscuring the rocks.

A single shot echoed across the valley, followed by the telltale whoosh of another RPG.

Mitchell whirled toward the sound. This was it. He took a last breath.

But the RPG arced wildly across the sky, raced over the trees, and vanished.

He frowned, spun back, and resumed his pace, reaching the shattered rock face where the outcropping had been. He came around the other side to find Rutang huddling deep in the crevice, illuminated by a penlight and inspecting an arm pinpricked by shrapnel.

"Oh, man, Scott." Rutang groaned.

"Hey, you're still alive. Don't complain. Turn that light off."

"Roger that. Just wanted see how bad it was."

"It's not bad."

"Feels bad."

Mitchell carefully set down Carlos. "Just hang on here, bro."

Carlos winced and nodded. "Somebody needs to go back for Billy."

Mitchell smirked. "Uh, yeah, that'd be me--and without covering fire this time. Aw, the hell with it . . ." He tugged out his M4A1's near-empty magazine and shoved in a fresh one as his earpiece buzzed:

"Ricochet, this is Black Tiger 06, over." Captain Yano's voice was freighted with tension.

Mitchell swallowed. "Go ahead, Black Tiger."

"We're still dug in pretty deep. You have at least ten Tangos moving toward your position, maybe more, and we can't cut them off from here. We've been calling for air support, but they're saying the zone is still too hot. You need to get out of there, over."