Milton squeezed his eyes shut as the flash bangs detonated with the brightness of a million suns.

* * *

Ellie and the two DEA agents stayed back as the flash bangs exploded in a shower of mercury and magnesium powder; she had been warned and had looked away at the moment of detonation so as not to compromise her vision in the sudden cascade of light.

The noise of the explosions echoed back at them from the trees, the last reverberation barely fading out before the SEALs opened fire.

65

Gunfire rang out, bullets winging through the air and thudding into the shacks and, beyond them, the trees at the other side of the clearing. Milton held del Pozo against his body as he backed up, then felt the impacts as three rounds thudded into the Mexican’s chest. Milton heard his grunts of pain, then had to grapple hard to keep him upright as his legs gave way. Milton angled his body to the treeline and backed up quickly, reached the edge of a building and let go. Del Pozo collapsed onto the ground, his right leg jerking with involuntary spasms.

Milton pressed himself to the ground and crawled around the side of the building, trying to put something solid between himself and whoever was shooting at them from the treeline. He heard someone running, caught the sound of a thud and then a gasp of pain as someone crashed down atop him. The body twitched and lay still; Milton crawled out from underneath it and saw that it was one of the paste cookers he had seen earlier.

He slid around to the back of the hut, putting his shoulder to the boards. There was blood on his arm; he quickly checked it, found that he was unharmed, and concluded that the blood must have belonged to del Pozo. The gunfire continued to ring out, a clatter that was mixed with cries of pain and angry shouts of command. Milton tuned it out and took a moment to compose himself. He had no idea what was happening; whoever was attacking the camp was well armed, and that made it most likely that it was a government raid. On the other hand, there was a long history of cartels brawling for superiority in this part of the country, and it wasn’t impossible that this might be another flaring of that internecine violence.

It didn’t really matter. The bullets were the same no matter who was firing them.

He looked left and right. One of the camp guards had abandoned his post and was sprinting for the trees. The man’s body jerked to the right as he was pegged in the shoulder, but, somehow, he managed to stay on his feet and kept going. Another round punched him in the back and, arms flung wide, the man crashed down to the ground and lay still.