Despite that legacy of death, Mitchell had no reservations about taking on the mission, especially when he'd learned about who was involved.

He maneuvered the drone to the farthest house, descended a few meters, centered the reticle and grid overlay, and whispered to himself, "Come on. Be there."

The drone hummed quietly. Mitchell's breath steamed. He sniffled, tensed, waited.

Abruptly, three brilliant green diamonds flashed in his HUD, along with three familiar names and their blood types. The diamonds zoomed in on the locations of each man in the house.

He'd found them! And he repressed the desire to shake a fist in the air.

Signals coming back from specially modified "Green" Force Tracker Chips under the skin of each man had allowed the computer to discern them as friendlies.

The GFTCs were part of a sophisticated and fine-tuned Identification, Friend or Foe (IFF) system that functioned much faster and more accurately than laser-based predecessors. Implanted chips were less cumbersome and more secure than external, radio-like identifiers. Additionally, the GFTCs were equipped with two security systems: (1) a DNA identifier so that the chips couldn't be used by enemies and still function, and (2) rolling encrypted signals to avoid enemy interception. Mitchell also had the command authority to update those rolling codes at his discretion.

The drone was beginning to get too close to the house, blowing snow from its roof, and Mitchell swore and guided it back to gain altitude.

The other individuals inside, four in all, were located via thermal infrared imagers and designated as "soldiers" with red numbered diamonds that also flashed and zoomed in on their positions. Mitchell could change those designations with a voice command override, should an enemy turn out to be a friendly or a civilian. "Target Three is Green," he might say.

Calming himself now, he flew the drone even higher, all of its data transmitted in real time over the entire network.

The drone picked out eight more targets, including a heavily bundled-up man posted outside each door.

They were only outnumbered three to one. Mitchell liked those odds.

"Ghost Lead, this is Brown," called the gunner. "I'm in position."

"Ghost Lead, this is Ramirez. I'm moving up. Almost there." The rifleman and communications expert aka commo guy had shivered through his words as he fought for breath.

The Cross-Com's security measures gave Mitchell and his teammates the luxury of using their own names over the radio, though he was identified as Ghost Lead in most cases. Sometimes he missed the old call signs, all starting with the same letter on an ODA team: Rockstar, Rapper, Rutang . . .

He took a deep breath. "Ghost Team, this is Ghost Lead. Check your HUDs. You can see our package of three is in the last house. Looks like we have twelve Taliban here. Note their positions. I'm sighting the first guard. Talk to me, Diaz."