screamed to the forward half of his team. A second later a volley of

shots rang out.

"Advance Three, we have a Spectre two minutes out and inbound.

Four whirlies-two carriers and two gunships-will be off the ground

in three. It'll take them another ten minutes to reach your site."

Hunt could hear the whine of the massive propeller-driven gunship

racing up the canyon miles below them. He peeked over the rock to see

SACRED STONE 21

eight of the enemy still advancing down the hill. Raising himself, he shot

off a rocket-propelled grenade. A whoosh then a thump as the charge

flew through the air and ignited. He followed up with a volley of automatic

weapon fire.

"Advance Three, acknowledge."

"Advance Three, affirmative," Hunt yelled into the microphone.

Where there had been eight there were now just four. They were

only twenty yards from his forward team. Hunt swiveled his bayonet

and locked it in place. The forward team seemed paralyzed. They were

young, unseasoned and about to be overrun. A mortar landed close to

the boulders and exploded. The area was showered with powdered rock

and dust. From higher up the mountain another group of the enemy

started down the hill. Hunt stood up and started firing. He sprinted the

twenty yards ahead to his men and met the advancing enemy head-on.

Three's a charm, and that's how many Hunt shot dead in the gut.

The last one he bayoneted, as his clip was empty. Tasking his sidearm

from his holster, he finished the man off, then slid to the ground, replaced

his clip and rose and started firing again.

"Back it up, men," he shouted, "behind the boulders."

Two by two his men retreated to the relative safety of the boulders

to the rear, while the men remaining kept fire on an advancing enemy.

The enemy was high on distilled poppy, misplaced religious zeal and the

narcotic khat leaves they were chewing. The slope was red with the blood

of their fallen comrades but still they advanced.

"Advance Three," the radio squawked.

Antencio reached for the radio. "This is Advance Three," he said.

"Our C.O. is away from the radio, this is Specialist 367."

"We've located a B-52 at another target," the voice said. "We've diverted

her to assist."

"Affirm-I'll tell the lieutenant."

But Antencio would never have a chance to relay the message.

Only Hunt and a grizzled old sergeant were left at the forward site

when the AC-130 arrived on station. A second later a wall of lead began

pouring from the 25-, 40- and 105-millimeter guns that poked from her

sides.

22 CLIVE CUSSLER

The sergeant had seen a Spectre live-fire before and he wasted no

time. "Let's back it up, sir," he shouted to Hunt, "we have a few seconds

of cover."

"Go, go, go," Hunt said, yanking the sergeant upright and pushing

him toward safety. "I'm right behind you."

The Spectre crabbed sideways from the recoil of her firing guns. A