The first mortar round had dug a crater surrounded by dozens of muddy pools, while rocks and split tree limbs now littered Mitchell's path. He circled around, but it was getting harder to see through the swirling dust. His right leg ached, and a warm, trickling sensation drifted down his calf.

Don't stop. That was right. No matter how he felt. No matter what he heard or saw.

But his legs just weren't capable anymore, every muscle blazing, his hips straining against the load until his boot rested squarely on a rock, and his ankle began to twist. He screamed and shifted his weight, getting off in time before the searing pain ripped through the ankle. He staggered forward, nearly fell, regained his balance.

"It's okay, Scott. Just put me down."

Another mortar exploded off to their right, maybe forty meters, followed by a fresh wave of incoming rifle fire.

"Hang tighter," he ordered Billy, then raging silently to himself, Mitchell poured everything left into his stride. He bounded up the hill, digging deeply into the mud, grunting through his teeth with every breath.

The fire in his legs had worked into his spine and fanned across his shoulders. He stooped over even more, about to drop Billy.

He had a dozen more steps.

Rutang appeared up top, reared back, and hurled his M83 smoke grenade, which landed far behind them and began to hiss . . .

Ten steps now. Six.

Four.

On the day he'd announced he was joining the army, Mitchell's father had told him, If you're going to be a soldier, Scott, then be the best.

A mortar whooshed down, somewhere directly behind him, and with the hairs on the back of his neck tingling, Mitchell threw himself and Billy around the rocks and into the crevice as the mortar exploded behind them.

They tumbled across the rocks and came to a bruising halt on the stone, arms and legs jutting into each other's faces.

Mitchell held his breath a few seconds more, then chanced a gasp, the stench of the explosion sending him into a fit of coughing. He pulled himself out from beneath Billy, then turned his gaze skyward at the spirit-lifting whomp of incoming Black Hawks.

Billy began screaming, the chest tube nearly wrenched from his body. Rutang was already attending to him while Carlos could barely keep his eyes open.

Above the drumming helicopters came shouts in Arabic, shockingly close now--right near the base of the hill.

Mitchell swung around his rifle to the ready position and hauled himself up, out of the crevice, wishing he hadn't looked back at his men. They were barely recognizable behind all the blood and mud.

He moved forward and shifted along the rocks, keeping his shoulder tight to the stone until he could hazard a look around the corner.

Two gunmen came charging up the hill.

Mitchell burst from cover and unleashed fire on the lead man, cutting him down.