Ed shrugged. “I don’t know, man. We went out and around. Looks to me like we’re coming back in, approaching some cliffs from the east. Talk to the pilots. They have Swann’s coordinates. Somebody just started a shooting war up ahead, and it looks like it’s starting to get hot.”

“Guys,” Rachel said over the intercom. She and Jacob must have overheard them up front. “We can’t play this game anymore. There’s nowhere to set this thing down. We are almost out of fuel. That firefight he mentioned is directly in front of us—practically on top of the coordinates Swann gave me. We need to get this bird to Kurdish territory or we are going to crash. I don’t know about you, but I’m not in the mood for a chopper crash in the middle of an Al Qaeda hideout.”

Luke raised a hand to no one. “Okay, Rachel. Okay. Swann, who is shooting at whom?”

“Two platoons of Marines dropped in from Hueys near some friendly Kurdish positions on the lower slopes about ten or fifteen minutes ago. I’d assume they got their bearings, geared up, and they’re starting to fight their way uphill.”

“Big Daddy sent those Marines?”

“Yes. He’s trying to wrangle some Navy SEALs, but he doesn’t have them yet.”

Luke shook his head.

This didn’t sound right. It was going to take those Marines all night to push uphill against positions held by even a handful of religious fanatics.

Luke had an idea. He ducked his head into the cockpit.

“I’ll strike you a deal.”

“Name it,” Jacob said. Both he and Rachel were staring through the windshield and monitoring controls at the same time.

“Put me right over Swann’s coordinates, even if there’s shooting. Hold that position for ten seconds, and let me get a peek down there. Then we’ll go anywhere you want. Sound okay?”

Jacob glanced at Rachel. She shrugged.

“Sounds good,” Jacob said. “Just don’t blame us if we get our skin shredded.”

Luke looked out the cockpit windshield. There were flashes of light up ahead.

“I won’t blame you,” Luke said. An image of the disastrous Afghanistan mission flashed through his mind. “I’ll blame me.”

“Fair enough,” Jacob said. “We’ll be over those coordinates in thirty seconds. Let’s make this quick.”

Luke ducked back into the cabin. “Eyes sharp, Ed. We’ll be there in half a minute.”

“We’re already there, white man. Passing over those cliff faces… now.”

Luke pulled a long metal box out from under the bench. He shoved the body of Greg Welch out of the way. He turned a silver knob on the left, then on the right, and opened the box. More weapons in here. An MP5 with a three loaded box magazines. An M-79 grenade launcher. Half a dozen grenades.

Not enough. Not nearly enough.