What happened after that only Rutang and the agents could tell. Signals Intelligence had picked up a beacon in a snow-covered saddle about a quarter kilometer east of the houses, and further investigation of the site via satellite and Green Force tracking revealed that at least five members of the team were there, although all five GFTCs indicated no pulse.
The weapons cache had been destroyed, and higher assumed that Rutang, Saenz, and Vick had tried to hide the bodies then escape across the border into Afghanistan. Somewhere along the way they were captured.
'They got us because of me, Scott,' Rutang said through a groan. 'Because of me.'
'No time to worry about that.'
'Listen. First team got taken out in the explosion. But the others… We couldn't just leave 'em there.'
'Tang, forget it.'
'We planted a beacon on the site so higher could bring 'em home.'
'Higher knows about the marker. They'll send in a recovery team. Don't you worry, brother. Nobody gets left behind.'
Brown finished removing Rutang's cuffs, just as Diaz's voice broke once more over the radio. 'Captain, I got him. But the bodies are piling up out here — you'd better move!'
'Roger that. We're getting them out right now. Ramirez, they're drugged. I need help.'
Ramirez rushed back into the room, helped Saenz to his feet, draped the guy's arm over his shoulder. Brown assisted Vick, while Mitchell got Rutang to his feet — and it was now even more clear that he'd been the worst beaten of the group.
'Get some jackets, hats, gloves, whatever you can find. Bundle them up and get 'em ready to move,' Mitchell ordered.
Ramirez and Brown got to work, and within minutes they had all three dressed and ready to face the weather.
'Buddy, I have to lift you,' Mitchell told Rutang.
'I know.'
Mitchell hoisted Rutang over his shoulders. 'Just like old times, eh?'
'Yeah.'
'At least you're lighter than the last time I carried you.'
'I've been on the Taliban diet. Lose ten pounds in three days, guaranteed.'
'Great. Now shut up and let me rescue your ass. Diaz, are we clear to move?'
'Affirm — wait, negative, negative! Another guy from the middle house, heading right for your door! He looks unarmed, but he's too fast for me.'
'Captain, he's mine,' said Brown, who carefully brought Vick to the bed, then rushed to the front door, drawing his Nightwing.
Mitchell put a finger to his lips, warning Brown.
The gunner nodded, eyes growing wide with an intensity that nearly lit the room.
The door swung open, and in stepped the guy, much shorter than the others, wearing a tan and black
Brown rolled away from the door. And the rest happened so quickly, so efficiently, that Mitchell could only mouth a curse in utter awe.
Like a bolt of lightning, Brown got behind the insurgent and slid his arm beneath the guy's chin, locking his jaw shut while simultaneously driving his blade into the man's heart.
With the blade still jutting from the man's chest, Brown released his hand, loosened his grip on the guy's neck, and began stuffing the guy's
The insurgent was still alive, beginning to bleed to death, and it could take a minute more before he lost consciousness. Knife wounds did not produce instant death the way they were portrayed in films and on TV, and Brown knew exactly what he was doing to keep the man quiet until blood loss took its toll.
'All right, let's go,' Mitchell ordered.
Brown freed his knife, then hustled back to Vick, who slung his arm over Brown's shoulder, and they fell in behind Mitchell.
Ramirez and Saenz led the way out into the bitter cold and a more powerful wind that stung their cheeks.
They started down the hill, rallying back toward Diaz's position, but Mitchell found a little section of hill where a pair of snow-covered boulders provided exceptional cover. 'Set 'em down here.'
'Scott, what now?' asked Rutang, slurring his words.
'Just making sure we're not followed. Brown's staying with you. We'll be right back. Diaz, you reloaded and set?'
'Yes, sir.'
Mitchell stole a moment to pull up intel from the UAV3 Cypher drone. He brought the drone back over the houses to confirm that of the twelve insurgents, only three remained. Two guys were in the center house, one in the first house.
'Drone's confirmed their positions. You seeing this?'
'Roger that,' said Diaz.
'Got it, sir,' added Ramirez.
'Okay. Ramirez and I got the center house. Diaz, cover that door of the first. That guy comes out, he's yours.'
'Standing by.'
Mitchell loaded a fresh magazine into his pistol, then said, 'Ramirez? Move out!'
Boots digging deep in the snow, they drove up the hill and reached the middle house, entirely out of breath. They weren't wasting time with the lock now. Ramirez drew back and kicked in the door.
Mitchell rushed in, knowing that their targets were on the left side, near the fireplace. Both men had rolled over, sat up, and began screaming at Mitchell, who shot the first one even as Ramirez cried, 'Shut up!' and silenced the second.
Diaz had the option of aiming via the reticle in her HUD or choosing the traditional method of sighting the target via her rifle's attached scope. The choice came into play now because the IWS allowed her to zoom in on the target and actually see him behind the door.
A flashing red outline appeared, indicating the insurgent's exact position despite the wood between him and Diaz. She had range, wind speed, and direction — and most importantly — the talent and desire to drop the very last man standing between them and completing the mission.
She wouldn't give him the luxury of opening the door and taking a last cold breath. Holding hers, she squeezed the trigger. The Dragunov thumped, the sound echoed by a distant crack from the door as her round penetrated the wood and pierced the man behind it.
The red outline turned white. 'Ghost Lead, this is Diaz. Third guy is down.'
'Roger that. We're out of here. Fall back on me.'
Diaz rose and tried to shudder off the chills. Her blood felt icy, and her joints ached. She was beginning to lose sensation in her toes. 'The cold is my friend,' she muttered, resorting to survival school mantras drilled into all operators.
Shouldering her rifle, she picked her way down the hill toward the others, their position glowing in her HUD. She smiled to herself as Carlos and Tomas shook their heads in disbelief over what she had just accomplished.
Carlos was now helping run the ranch with Dad, and Tomas had gone on to become a distinguished professor of agriculture at Iowa State. However, whenever they got together, Diaz would gaze into their eyes and always see the jealous twelve-year-old still lurking inside.
She reached the bottom of the hill, just as Captain Mitchell called their chopper: 'Black Hawk Two-Niner, this is Ghost Lead. En route to pickup zone. Terrain's rough. ETA twenty, thirty minutes, over.'
'Ghost Lead, this is Black Hawk Two-Niner. Roger that. We're on our way.'
Carrying an approximately 180-pound man about a hundred meters to the next hill was within Mitchell's
