White made the only decision he could: "Tell the MC-130 and the CV-22 that they need to perform an emergency rendezvous. I need Ladybug back in the target area without delay."

White himself found a plotter and a pair of dividers and, using a base refueling speed of 180

knots, computed a rough rendezvous point about forty-three miles west of Liepaja: "Clear COMBAT TALON for 'music,' and keep the escorts in the rendezvous area.

Send it."

"Pojorna, nas razyidinili, butti lubezni, paftariti, "the Marine assault-crew radio operator suddenly heard in Russian on the radio. It came over the receive-only command channel-a broadcast from PATRIOT, the E-3B AWACS radar plane. Translated, "Squad, reply not received, repeat message." It was meant for Lobato and his crew, a warning message saying that the helicopter that had been working the target area was on its way and heading toward them. For maximum reliability, emergency radio messages from the AWACS to the assault crew were not scrambled or encoded with complex algorithms, which meant that intercepting and decoding a message was easier for the enemy-hence the code words in Russian.

The Marine carrying the radio moved quietly to Lobato's side and passed the word to him, and Lobato nodded. They knew all about the helicopter, and Lobato had been expecting it-the wise play would be to assume the helicopter would arrive just as the Marines approached the target area. Lobato increased the assault team's speed, still using extreme caution but picking up the pace slightly.

But he wasn't expecting what happened next. The unit had traveled within one mile of the estimated pickup point when they heard the faint whupwhUpWhUPWhUP of a helicopter in the distance.

The CIS helicopter that had been scouring the area for days looking for RAGANU was closing in on the Marines' position.

"Message from PATRIOT," the radio operator reported to Lobato. "The chopper is inbound, slowing to patrol speed."

Lobato seethed: "Shit... we're running out of time." Lobato signaled the rest of the squad and they fanned out and headed for the pickup spot. The Marines hastily split up and dashed into the treelines on both sides of a small dirt road, carefully staying just within sight of each other, MP5 submachine guns at the ready.

They moved as if linked: they would stop for a long sixty seconds, scanning the woods and the road, listening for sounds of men, vehicles, aircraft; then, together move another twenty or thirty yards and repeat the process. They used their night-vision goggles to carefully sweep the area.

After another ten minutes of movement, Gunny Lobato was beginning to get nervous-the target was nowhere to be seen. He signaled the radio operator to join up with him as the squad moved cautiously ahead. Lobato searched the forest, but with no luck. The target was still south of them; he had to be.

He had to be very- Someone was kneeling at the base of a tree, just thirty feet ahead of Lobato. He appeared out of nowhere. He was slowly getting to his feet, but he was still hidden to Marine Corps Corporal John Butler, who was moving in his direction to Lobato's right. Butler had just crouched down as he heard the faint rustle of leaves-he knew that something was out there, but he couldn't see or identify it yet.