"Take out the first guy, and that'll get 'em thinking twice."

"Watch me."

Being on the wrong end of a well-coordinated sniper attack was most soldiers' worst nightmare. Men simply died, as though plucked from this earth by the hand of God. As they dropped, so did morale, while the paranoia grew to a fever pitch.

Mitchell took aim but held his fire, watching through his crosshairs as Diaz fired her first shot.

The lead Taliban fighter hit the snow, sending the others to their bellies and wishing they had ice picks to dig cover. They shouted about a sniper, and one gave orders for them to get up, but several others protested.

"Ramirez? Brown? Get to the chopper!" Mitchell ordered.

"Sir, even with the suppressor, if I fire again--"

"I know, they'll spot us. Once they're back up, I'll need one more shot."

"Roger that."

Mitchell stole a few seconds to consult the drone's intel one last time before he sent it flying back toward the border, where it would be retrieved by support personnel.

"Oh, man," he said aloud. Ignorance was bliss. He wouldn't even tell Diaz how many insurgents were about to reach the hilltop.

"Looks like they're getting ready to come up," said Diaz.

Mitchell crouched down beside her. "The second you fire, we're gone. Ready?"

"Yeah, hang on. Almost have the shot. Almost . . ."

A muffled bang came from Diaz's rifle, and the subsonic round traversed the hillside before the Taliban fighter in its path could blink again.

He toppled. Mitchell and Diaz wasted no time breaking from the trees.

"That all you got?" Diaz asked, jogging alongside him. "Move it!"

Mitchell smiled to himself. "That's three beers. Last one for the insult." He picked up the pace, boots now slipping across those hidden rocks and sheets of ice.

Near the bottom of the hill the grade grew steeper, forcing them to sidestep down to reach bottom.

Mitchell stole a look back over his shoulder.

What he saw left him breathless.

Finally, they started across level ground and into a field of scree, the broken and eroded rocks creating yet another challenge. Mitchell slowed to avoid several larger stones to their left.

"Come on, sir, we're almost there," hollered Diaz.

"I hear you," Mitchell answered. "Just don't look back."

THIRTEEN

THIRTEEN

NORTHWEST WAZIRISTAN
AFGHANISTAN-PAKISTAN BORDER
JANUARY 2009

"Oh my God," said Diaz.

"I told you not to look back," said Mitchell.

"Saying that made me look back."

"Me and my big mouth." Mitchell tightened his grip on her wrist.

The Black Hawk, outlined in green on Mitchell's HUD, was churning up a storm that quickly enveloped them, ice particles needling into Mitchell's nose, ears, and cheeks.

He'd take the pain, because all that rotor wash helped conceal them. The Taliban fighters in pursuit, who'd come in a long stream across the top of the hill like a Roman army, had just lost sight of their targets.