Ghost Recon

Diaz probed the mountain once more, spotted a second guy lifting his RPG.

At the same time, Ramirez reported that he and Brown were nearly at the chopper with the two CIA guys. That was good, but if Diaz didn't tag this next guy…

As she homed in, the din of gunfire and helicopter engines narrowed into her breathing, only her breathing, as though she wore scuba gear and was back at the reef in Cozumel.

Right now, as far as she was concerned, there were only two people in the entire world, and she would reduce that number by exactly one.

The reticle hovered over the guy. He wore a heavy woolen pakol pulled down over his ears. He was turning toward the Black Hawk when Diaz took her shot.

At the very least she anticipated a puff of smoke from his chest, perhaps a small amount of blood.

Nothing. She had missed.

What the hell?

Carlos and Tomas screamed with glee in her ears.

A cold panic rushed up Diaz's spine as she resighted the man and fired, but it was already too late. Yes, he died, but his RPG was already airborne.

Ramirez glanced away and grimaced as Agent Vick, who was seated in the snow next to his partner Saenz, finished coughing and puking.

'Glad you came back,' said Saenz. 'We know where we stand with your captain.'

'We evac the most seriously wounded first,' Ramirez said through his teeth.

Saenz grinned and snorted. 'Whatever you say, soldier.' He regarded Vick. 'Look at him. All this running around and the drugs… we're getting sick.'

'And you're getting out of here,' Brown said, hauling Saenz to his feet.

Ramirez got behind Vick and struggled against the big guy's considerable girth. 'Promise me something,' he said in the agent's ear. 'You won't throw up on me, will you?'

Vick began coughing again.

'Oh, man,' moaned Ramirez, guiding the man forward. 'Here we go.'

The captain and Diaz, along with one of the chopper's door gunners, did an outstanding job of keeping the insurgents along the mountain busy while Ramirez and Brown ushered the agents out of there. The pilot had pulled off his spot and now wheeled overhead to engage the enemy. But once he saw them nearing the ridge, and Ramirez gave him a shout to confirm that, he swung around and descended.

With the Black Hawk in its deafening hover, they seized the harness and line. Vick got buckled in and went up first. Saenz followed, and even as he was halfway up, just a meter from being pulled in, he took a round in the shoulder, making Ramirez curse and holler for the guys up top to move faster.

Then a flash came from the corner of Ramirez's eye: one of the Taliban fighters had launched a rocket- propelled grenade.

Ramirez screamed over the radio for the pilot to lift off.

As the engines roared, he and Brown dove from their little ledge, dropping at least two meters into a huge snowdrift below.

Just as Ramirez was swallowed in all that white, the RPG hammered into the mountainside, heaving up fountains of rock and shrapnel.

And yet the snow kept coming, shielding Ramirez at least a little, large pieces of snow and ice resembling foam rushing over his head as he slid down several more meters and came to a jarring halt.

Brown stopped with a blast of snow beside him.

Ramirez flailed his arms, relieved that he was buried only a quarter meter deep in the snow. He sat up as the chopper arced overhead through the starlit night, with Saenz just now being hauled into the bay.

Brown crawled next to him, his face barely visible behind his new camouflage suit of snow. 'We're supposed to be dead.'

'Ghost Lead, this is Black Hawk Two-Niner. I have your package on board, coming back around to pick you up.'

'Negative, negative,' replied Mitchell. 'It's getting even hotter down here.'

'Roger that. I got another valley directly east of your position. Got it marked on your tac map.'

'Stand by.' Mitchell ducked behind the rock and with a voice command pulled up his tactical map so that it filled his entire HUD. He spotted that second valley indicated by the pilot's flashing green designator. He zoomed in, saw how the more level ground provided a good LZ and that it put a hillside between them and the oncoming Taliban fighters. 'Black Hawk Two-Niner, put down in that valley, and we'll rally on you.'

'On our way, Ghost Lead.'

'Okay, people, we're pulling out,' Mitchell said over the radio. 'Fall back on me.' He glanced over at Diaz, who was just rising from the rock, getting ready to move.

Out past her, a figure rose from the ridge about thirty meters off, lifting his rifle at Diaz as a red diamond and outline appeared around him.

Mitchell cut loose with silenced rifle fire directly over Diaz's shoulder, dropping the guy as she turned and gasped. 'Whoa. I owe you big time, Captain.'

'I'll settle for a beer.'

'You got it.'

They charged off along the hillside, meeting up with Ramirez and Brown, then all four started up through the rocks, threading their way to the top. Sporadic fire tore into the ground ahead.

A brilliant yellow square lit up in Mitchell's HUD, indicating the chopper's new position in the landing zone, and he turned left, taking them along a much steeper embankment, the snow giving way beneath his boots.

Ramirez, pulling up the rear, opened fire and cried, 'They're closing on us!'

Mitchell picked up the pace. The hill led them toward a pair of lone trees, then it would drop off again and roll out into the valley and the helicopter beyond.

He aimed for the trees, wary of every step.

Suddenly, Brown cried, 'Diaz!'

Mitchell craned his head, just as Diaz, who'd lost her footing, went tumbling down the hill. She'd been smart enough to tuck her arms into her chest, but while that helped avoid a break, it made her a more streamlined barrel, and down she went for more than a dozen meters until she finally stopped, facedown, unmoving.

Reflexively, Mitchell started toward her, ordering Ramirez and Brown to hold position and cover him. Twice he nearly dropped himself on patches of ice hidden beneath the snow.

He reached her, fearing the worst. Slowly, he took her by the shoulders, rolled her gingerly onto her back.

She blinked, began coughing.

Mitchell sighed in relief. 'Now you owe me two beers,' he said, then seized her hand, helped her to her feet. Together they started back up the hill, with Ramirez and Brown above them.

They forged onward, back toward the trees, the snow deepening to shin height and topped with a thick ice crust.

Mitchell's calves and hamstrings soon burned. He thanked every PT instructor he'd ever had for forcing him to go farther than he ever thought possible. That kind of training paid off in spades during combat.

They began making better time and came within a stone's throw of the trees, but then Brown reported enemy contact: 'I see six at the top of the hill. Make that seven! They're following!'

'Alicia, I'm not kidding now,' said Mitchell. 'We need to move!'

'Yes, sir!'

They charged together for the trees. Once there, they paused to catch their breath.

'We need you now,' he said, cocking a brow.

She took up her rifle and inspected it for damage from the fall. 'I'm good.'

'Take out the first guy, and that'll get 'em thinking twice.'

'Watch me.'

Being on the wrong end of a well-coordinated sniper attack was most soldiers' worst nightmare. Men simply