"Okay, people, we're pulling out," Mitchell said over the radio. "Fall back on me." He glanced over at Diaz, who was just rising from the rock, getting ready to move.

Out past her, a figure rose from the ridge about thirty meters off, lifting his rifle at Diaz as a red diamond and outline appeared around him.

Mitchell cut loose with silenced rifle fire directly over Diaz's shoulder, dropping the guy as she turned and gasped. "Whoa. I owe you big time, Captain."

"I'll settle for a beer."

"You got it."

They charged off along the hillside, meeting up with Ramirez and Brown, then all four started up through the rocks, threading their way to the top. Sporadic fire tore into the ground ahead.

A brilliant yellow square lit up in Mitchell's HUD, indicating the chopper's new position in the landing zone, and he turned left, taking them along a much steeper embankment, the snow giving way beneath his boots.

Ramirez, pulling up the rear, opened fire and cried, "They're closing on us!"

Mitchell picked up the pace. The hill led them toward a pair of lone trees, then it would drop off again and roll out into the valley and the helicopter beyond.

He aimed for the trees, wary of every step.

Suddenly, Brown cried, "Diaz!"

Mitchell craned his head, just as Diaz, who'd lost her footing, went tumbling down the hill. She'd been smart enough to tuck her arms into her chest, but while that helped avoid a break, it made her a more streamlined barrel, and down she went for more than a dozen meters until she finally stopped, facedown, unmoving.

Reflexively, Mitchell started toward her, ordering Ramirez and Brown to hold position and cover him. Twice he nearly dropped himself on patches of ice hidden beneath the snow.

He reached her, fearing the worst. Slowly, he took her by the shoulders, rolled her gingerly onto her back.

She blinked, began coughing.

Mitchell sighed in relief. "Now you owe me two beers," he said, then seized her hand, helped her to her feet. Together they started back up the hill, with Ramirez and Brown above them.

They forged onward, back toward the trees, the snow deepening to shin height and topped with a thick ice crust.

Mitchell's calves and hamstrings soon burned. He thanked every PT instructor he'd ever had for forcing him to go farther than he ever thought possible. That kind of training paid off in spades during combat.

They began making better time and came within a stone's throw of the trees, but then Brown reported enemy contact: "I see six at the top of the hill. Make that seven! They're following!"

"Alicia, I'm not kidding now," said Mitchell. "We need to move!"

"Yes, sir!"

They charged together for the trees. Once there, they paused to catch their breath.

"We need you now," he said, cocking a brow.

She took up her rifle and inspected it for damage from the fall. "I'm good."