During the past eighteen months he had fielded some mind-blowing gear while serving in the countries of Georgia and Eritrea, and he never ceased being impressed. Now, not only was he on a mission of utmost importance, but he had been chosen to field-test an early beta version of the Cross-Com system, a program whose funding was already in jeopardy. Despite that, he had made the stern argument that every operator on his team should be fitted with the devices, cost be damned. He thought it invaluable to have all Ghosts equipped with the best technology to have total situational awareness, not just the team leader. He'd won his argument.

Indeed, Susan Grey had been right about the Ghosts. They got what they wanted because they produced results.

Originally formed in 1994, the Ghosts were better funded, better trained, and better equipped than all other Special Forces companies because they had to be. They were the spearhead of all American Special Forces, a quick-response team, first in and last out. While the cliche "the best of the best" made Mitchell wince, it was undeniably true. Every operator had been handpicked, and the organization's existence was classified, compartmentalized. The army did a damned good job of keeping that secret, too, disguising them as just another unit. Mitchell had been in the service a long time, and he'd never heard of the Ghosts until Grey had crashed his party.

It had been an eventful and enlightening eighteen months to be sure, yet of all the missions he had run thus far, this one was arguably the most difficult--for multiple reasons.

Earlier in the evening, the wind speeds had been increasing, nearing the limit, and they shouldn't have jumped at all, but Mitchell wouldn't allow weather to stop them. No way.

So they had bailed out of a perfectly good C-130 and had made a hair-raising high-altitude, low-opening (HALO) insertion into the mountains just west of a town called Miranshah, where for the last three years the Taliban had established several bases of operations, including public offices--an act that had continually outraged the locals. The team had been given full drone support; otherwise, they were on their own until they rallied back on the pickup point one kilometer due east of their current position. They were dressed and armed like Taliban insurgents, save for the suppressors on their AK-47 rifles. Even Diaz was toting along a Dragunov sniper rifle instead of a silenced SR-25 or some of the other rifles she preferred.

For his part, Mitchell had offered his people the requisite sarcastic welcome to the tribal lands of Waziristan, the most hostile part of the entire country, a wild west ruled by local leaders or maliks (kings) who had either made deals allowing the Taliban to live and train within their territory or who had been coerced into making deals. Over the years, over two hundred maliks had been slaughtered trying to stand up to the Taliban.