As the guy fell back, Brown seized the man's weapon, finished him, and reengaged the others. The ensuing firefight lasted another five minutes before his backup arrived, and Brown was twice wounded.

From that day forward, the Nightwing never left his side. Even in a world of high-tech warfare, cold, hard steel could never be replaced, and neither could a warrior's will to survive.

He always grimaced when he thought about being nominated for the Silver Star for his actions that night, not because the nomination made him feel awkward but because his parents had offered only a halfhearted acknowledgment.

Brown imagined them sitting in their million-dollar home in Lake Forest, cursing over the fact that he had thrown it all away, dropped out of the University of Illinois, abandoned his position as a defensive lineman on the Fighting Illini to what? "Join the army? Have you lost your mind?" his mother had said.

His father had screamed at the top of his lungs, "I was the first man in my family to earn a college degree! A graduate degree! We're creating a new legacy for our family, for our people! In a few years I'll be running for mayor of this city! You have a great future ahead of you in public service--and now you want to go backward!"

But Brown had just wanted so much more out of life than a business or a law degree could offer. He never saw himself sitting in meetings with city council members, discussing community issues. His methods of effecting change were much more aggressive.

Consequently, the guard who'd come out of the mud-brick house for a smoke never stood a chance.

Brown put a silenced round in the man's forehead and caught him before he hit the snow and made too much noise. After lowering him to the ground, Brown sheathed his knife and dug under the guy's arms to drag him round the side of the building, out of sight. That done, Brown crouched low near the corner to catch his breath, relief flooding through him like a warm cup of coffee. He issued his report to Captain Mitchell.

As confident as Brown was, there were more than a million ways you could screw up any mission, and he liked to joke that he had already discovered at least seventy-two of them.

Mitchell lifted his chin at Ramirez, who nodded and tucked away his tool kit. The door was open.

"Diaz, what do you see?"

"All clear now, Captain."

After taking one more look through the eyes of the drone and reconfirming the positions of every combatant, Mitchell waited as Brown returned and got into position.

Ramirez would take left, Brown right, and Mitchell would come in low, on his belly--an unconventional choice to be sure, but that's the way he rolled. Ramirez and Brown would draw first attention should the guys in the front room awaken, and that would give Mitchell his chance to fire from his elbows.