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CHAPTER 18



Wade woke him before dawn. “Let’s move.” It was just a voice in the dark, with a presence behind it he could just see against the stars.

“Right,” he agreed. “Nasima?” he called softly, afraid of touching her.

“I’m awake,” she said. “Can you step outside and wait?”

“Sure,” he agreed. He and Wade went outside and relieved themselves into a depression between two rocks. Hopefully, no one would see the puddle, and it would dry quickly. Obviously, Nasima was doing the same in the cave in the dark. But it was one of those things not discussed between men and women here.

“We’re ready,” Kyle called as soon as he was done. In moments, she rustled out from the black mouth in the rock.

“My head is throbbing, but better,” she said. “I’m ready to travel.”

Wade nodded. “I think I should take point, Kyle, with you in back. Nasima, stay between us. Even if we get attacked, don’t shoot until we’re down on lower ground. We might dodge suddenly.”

“I understand,” she said. She sounded quite calm.

“Makes sense,” Kyle agreed. Wade had more experience in the mountains, having just come from 10th Mountain Division.

The climb was tiring but not dangerous. They were careful of their footing, and slow at first. Twilight is hard to see in, but by scanning the eyes one can get a good image of the area, better than with the focal point of the eye.

Then the sky was gray. It hadn’t happened suddenly, but it had reached a level discernible to the brain. Shapes began to resolve themselves as boulders, protrusions. Spiky spiderlike terrors became bushes.

The rest and food had done them a world of good, Kyle thought. They were moving more easily, and were alert and awake. It turned to proper dawn, crisp and cool with a hint of dew. All he needed now was bacon and eggs. How did these people survive without bacon and eggs for breakfast now and then?

By sunrise, the ground was flattening out. That was good, in that they could make better speed, but bad in that they were exposed to fire from behind.

“We just keep slogging,” Kyle said. “Nothing else to do. And if we get far enough away, they may give up.”

Nasima said, “They won’t give up. But we may find territory they don’t like, or a place you can call for help from.”

“I figure we should be in range now. So if we can get a bit farther north and find a high spot, we should be able to reach the E-8. Assuming there’s still an E-8 up there. Of course, it could be on the far part of its orbit.” A JSTARS plane was constantly circling or “in orbit” above the region, to provide command and control. They were primarily intended for aircraft control, but could be reached by radio from the ground, if the radio were in range and line of sight. The mountains were making that impossible at the moment.

“Right. Well, we work with what we’ve got,” Nasima said. “This is not good.”

At once, Kyle asked, “What?”

“Listen,” she said.

He did. Wade did also, and kept very quiet; his feet on the soil were barely audible. There was a faint sound that was familiar and disturbing. “Dogs?” he asked.

“Wild dogs,” Nasima confirmed. “Following us. They attack travelers in packs.”

“Ah, hell. How many in a pack?” he asked, dreading her answer.

“Twenty to fifty. Mongrels, large but not well fed. They take goats, even cows, and people if they find them. Very dangerous outside towns.”

“Right, and a dead giveaway to our pursuers,” Kyle warned.

“Will they stop if shot at?” Wade asked.

“Yes,” said Nasima. “Or if hit with rocks. But it takes several wounded before they understand.” “Rocks are good,” Wade said. “But I’ve also got canister loads and HE.”

Kyle snickered, Nasima looked confused, until he patted the grenade launcher mid the high-explosive shells slung from his belt.

“Ah,” she said. “Yes, but very loud.”

Kyle said, “I think we should save the grenades. At least until they’re up close. For now, let’s run. The dogs might get bored, at least.”

“Dogs, al Qaeda assholes, what’s the difference?” Wade said.

They all laughed at that, and broke into a brisk jog. The men could have gone considerably faster, but they weren’t going to leave Nasima behind.

“We would be on flat ground by now, of course,” Kyle said. “Oh, the hell with running. If we have to fight them now, let’s get it over with!” He dug in his heels and stopped. “We’re on open ground anyway, so why get tired?”

“It appeals to my sense of valor,” Wade said. “But part of me wants to haul ass.”

Nasima said nothing. She just looked scared.

“Keep walking,” Kyle said, checking the loads on the SMLE and his Ed Brown.

He wasn’t going to run, but there was no reason not to be at a fast walk. They needed distance anyway.

“Grab a couple of good rocks each as we go,” he said, and reached down to scoop up a heavy chunk of something. “If we can cripple a couple fast, they may leave.” He stuck the rock in a pocket of his coat, and watched for more.

The parade of canines drew closer, and the noise grew. If they could just persuade the dogs to bark away while they moved, it would be excellent cover, and their pads would obliterate any tracks the humans were making. Somehow, Kyle didn’t think they’d listen to his plan. But at least the noise told them where the pack was. There was no need to look over their shoulders to gauge the distance. They did anyway, however.

“I will not ask what else can go wrong, I will not ask what else can go wrong,” Wade chanted.

Kyle had to agree. Armed pursuit. Phone lost. Radio not working. Ammo low. Food and water gone. Chased by dogs. Feet blistered to pulp. Beard tangled and itching and with a sweat rash underneath.

At least, he reflected, they had good maps and GPS, so they’d know exactly where they were going to die. It was a melodramatic thought, but it fit his mood.

Ahead was another valley. It seemed to be an ancient riverbed, or maybe a seasonal wash. Farther on, it deepened to cliffs. Eventually, it would all lead down to the rivers on the edge of the Afghan plains.

“I hate to suggest the low ground for cover,” Kyle said, “but terrain features of any kind are what we need. It’s too flat up here.”

“May as well,” Wade said. “Nothing else has gone by the book.”

They were almost to the rills of the valley wall when the dogs caught up to them. They were well inside rifle range, even inside pistol range, and Kyle itched to take a shot. He didn’t dare make that much noise unless they had to. He was pretty sure they’d have to, though.

The mutts were spreading out, closing in, and slowing. That meant they were doing a quick assessment of their prey before attacking. Kyle had never seen such ugly, scrawny, vile-looking dogs in his life. No wonder no one thought of them as pets.

“That’s close enough,” Kyle said, reaching into his pocket. “Hit ’em.”

It was good, he reflected, that he’d never been a dog lover. His first fast pitch smashed one of the mutts in the jaw, throwing strings of gooey drool and blood back over its shoulders. Nasima wasn’t much of a thrower, but the dogs were skittering back from where her stones landed. Likely she’d never had much practice playing ball.

Wade, however, was doing brilliantly. Kyle recalled him playing for a local softball league, and the man had a snap to his wrist that was devastating. Three rocks landed smack, smack, smack, on a snout, causing one to roll on the ground in anguish, on a forehead between the eyes, braining the beast, and into a foreleg, shattering the knee. At that moment, Kyle nailed a second one hard in the ribs.

But the dogs were close now, and he could smell them. Their barking and yipping was a cacophony from all sides. He snatched at his pistol and started shooting. One dog was snapping at his leg, trying to nerve itself to close in. He kicked at it, aimed and shot, yanking his foot back just in time. He’d panicked and almost blown his own toes off.

The shot shattered the rear of the skull and upper spine. Wade pinged one with the .380, which had more than enough muzzle energy to drop it. Nasima was rapid firing, but seemed to have gotten two with five shots as Kyle literally blew the brains out of another. The skull shattered like a watermelon did when he went shooting back on his uncle’s farm, and red, wet contents splashed.

Then the remaining dogs were retreating at a sprint, tails low and ears folded. In seconds, they were bounding back the way they’d come.

Which was where the men on horses were. They were galloping like a posse in a bad cowboy movie, only they brandished AKs.

“Kyle, we need to get into that valley now,” Wade said. His voice was surprisingly calm.

“Amen, brother. Nasima, let’s go. Hold your fire again. We’ll need a lot of it when they get close, and the pistol doesn’t have enough range for this.”

“I understand,” she said.

This time they sprinted, and it seemed wrong to Kyle to run from these scum when they hadn’t from dogs. As far as he was concerned, the dogs were a far cleaner breed.

Kyle realized he should have expected horses. There were enough of them, and they were the best vehicle for this terrain if there was no road. He recalled a game played with a beheaded goat, which resembled polo. That summed up the mindset of the people they were facing.

Then the first incoming fire of the day slashed past them.

He didn’t need to tell anyone to duck; it was a technique they all had down by now. They scurried downslope to the valley, and rose gradually to a crawl, then upright. Then they were below line of sight, and could run.

“Want to take a few shots as they clear the horizon?” Wade asked.

“No, I want to get into those rocks so they have to dismount,” he said. He also didn’t want to shoot the horses, though he would if he had to.

“First time I’ve seen horses with the assholes on top,” Wade said.

“Good. I hope you plan to shoot like you crack jokes.”

“Count on it,” Wade assured him.

They plunged down into the ravine, cut, whatever it was, and scanned around for any good shooting positions. The ideal location would offer height, view, solid cover, and concealment. Right now, Kyle just wanted a tree or a rock. His back felt naked and exposed, and he was panting in fear. Would the first warning of them catching up be a bullet through his spine?

The ground dropped away. Grass grew in tufts, forcing its way between unyielding rocks. With little water for erosion, it was rough, raw terrain. It was the first good news of the day.

“Let’s get up on that ridge,” Wade said.

“Yeah, I see it, too,” Kyle agreed. It wound its way along a strata break in the ground, with lots of hard cover and a view down lower. Any pursuit would have to be single file along it. Under the circumstances, it was the best terrain they’d find, and it was available now, so there was no need to push their luck hoping for better.

“Give me ten seconds,” Wade said. He had the radio out and was setting it up.

“Okay, but hurry the hell up!” Kyle said back, panicky. Yes, they needed it, but now was not a good time. On the other hand, there wasn’t likely to be a good time.

It was back in his ruck in seconds, warmed and ready. Wade grabbed the handset and called. “Bossman, this is Roadkill, over.”

He started walking again, M4 cradled low and sweeping for threats. Kyle brought up the rear, and tried to keep the pace. The urge to back along was powerful.

Wade unslung his ersatz radio pack long enough to change frequencies. “Any U.S. military unit, this is Roadkill, urgently need relay to Bossman.”

Wade paused, and Kyle came up short. What was the problem?

Then Wade said, “Roger, Bouncer Five, this is Roadkill. Relay to Bossman. We are thirty kilometers north of our last grid. Urgently need contact, over.” They’d reached an American unit!

Grinning, Kyle forced himself to pay attention to the terrain and threats. The radio was Wade’s gig. He flashed Nasima a smile as he turned, and she grinned back, eyes crinkling in real happiness and relief.

They could still get very dead, though, and Kyle pushed his awareness to the limit. It would be ironic and suck royally to get clipped now.

Far back and higher up, there was movement. It was just discernible as a man on a horse. The question was, should he take the shot now and risk blowing their temporary concealment, or push on and risk letting them get too close?

Stealth, he decided. The cavalry would literally be here soon.

Ahead, Wade said, “Roger, Bouncer Five, Roadkill acknowledges. And we owe you many beers if soon we meet. Roadkill out.” He turned and said, “They had to relay through their battalion, to aviation, to Bossman, but the word is they’re circling down this way and will have us in twenty minutes. They’ve got choppers warming now. They’ll leave about the same time.”

“Right, so how long?” Kyle asked. He was trying to estimate himself, but his brain was foggy from fatigue.

“About an hour after that.”

“Eighty minutes,” Kyle said, considering. That was a long time.

“We can do it,” Wade said, sounding sure.

“Right, we keep walking,” Kyle said.

It wasn’t a hard walk, but they’d been doing it for days. The stress damage to his left foot, the blisters he could feel sheathing his toes, heel, and instep, and the increasing shin splints were not fun. They were hungry, thirsty, worn, and ragged. Still, they’d proven that two U.S. soldiers were better than al Qaeda’s remaining best.

So had Nasima. He wondered what they thought of that.

She was looking out of it. Despite her earlier grin, she was a trifle unsteady, and her eyes had a thousand-yard stare that was obscene on a face so young and vibrant. They owed her a lot, and Kyle wished there was something beyond money they could do. Perhaps State Department could arrange for better school facilities? Or even just prod the Pakistani government into a bit of action. Or she could resume teaching in Afghanistan if development continued.

Meanwhile, they were still slogging along. Afterward, Kyle would sit down with a map and figure out just how many miles they’d covered up, down, and over these mountains and plateaus.

“Down,” Wade whispered.

Kyle dropped at once. Nasima was barely slower. He wasn’t sure it was conscious reaction; it seemed as if he’d collapsed. “What?” he asked.

“We’ve got bad guys across the ravine, searching. Likely some above us, too.”

“And some behind on horses, lower down,” he said. “I would bet on some on foot on this ridge.”

“So it’s very prickly,” Wade said. “Your call. Hide, find a position, or keep moving?”

Kyle made a quick scan. Up ahead, the valley widened. That would reduce the threat from across the way. They were also getting lower, the cliffs building above and to the northeast.

“We go a bit farther,” he said. “Distance from any of them helps. Where it widens, we’ll try to hole up with a solid front.”

“Okay,” Wade said, and crawled forward. He rose to a crouch and shuffled along.

The only good thing about being out of water, Kyle reflected, was that his gear was forty pounds lighter. Though given his raspy, parched throat and the throbbing headache that was coming on, he craved that weight. Food was one thing, and could be acquired most places. But water was the biggest logistical problem for covert operations. There was just no way to carry enough, and their pursuers likely knew that.

They knew about the lack of water, the lack of food, that a small civilian woman was along, and probably that they’d been calling for help and not finding any. Now that backup was coming, Kyle concluded, either this group didn’t have a radio and didn’t know, or didn’t care and were determined to nail them before the choppers arrived.

So they should be expected to do something rash.

With that in mind, Kyle moved at the crouch, too. It was sheer hell on his lower back and knees, though it did take some load off his shoulders.

Up ahead, Wade whispered hoarsely, “This is Roadkill, Bossman. Go ahead, over.”

Yes! Kyle thought. Just a few more minutes. Any good defensive position, or a hide, preferably, as he had no need to prove anything else and no desire to get into a pissing contest, and they could kiss this pimple on the asshole of the world goodbye.

“Roger that, Bossman. Our coordinates are—”

Not that it wouldn’t be nice to see Quetta and that reservoir again, as a tourist. The art and culture was amazing. But these hills were worse than Nevada, and the natives worse than any Appalachian nightmare.

“Roadkill acknowledges, Bossman. Roadkill out,” Wade said. He continued speaking back over his shoulder. “Sixty-two minutes until they get here, maybe sixty-five. We’ll use flare and smoke to get their attention. And guess what? We’re in Afghanistan. Friendly territory.”

“And the bad guys are, too,” Kyle observed. “And will see the smoke.”

“We won’t pop until they are right on top. At that point, we’ll have fire support in seconds.” “Right. We’ve got a Blackhawk coming? Or an Air Force 53 bird?”

“Well, my friend,” Wade said softly, a chuckle hidden underneath, “it seems we rate the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment.”

Kyle was silent for a moment, then said, “That’s some serious fucking firepower. Sorry, Nasima.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “Right now, I’d like to see this serious fucking firepower.”

And Kyle tried not to laugh at the scene of this tiny, religious woman swearing like a soldier.

Wade spoke again, and his voice was soft but urgent. “Kyle, I estimate at least thirty hostiles. We’ve got ten down below that I can see, a dozen across the ravine, and I’m going to assume an equal number above. We’ve got to get somewhere safe.”

“Yeah, I’m open to suggestions,” Kyle said. Having bad guys above was very unappealing.

“Lower is all I can suggest,” Wade said. “And close to one wall, so that squad, at least, can’t get a clear field of fire.”

“Well, twenty is less than thirty,” Kyle agreed. “I can’t think of anything better.”

“We can angle down farther ahead,” Wade said.

“Lead the way. How are you on ammo?”

“One twenty-three,” Wade said.

“‘One shot, one kill’ is the motto,” Kyle said sarcastically.

“Right. You ever used only one shot?”

“I’m sure I have,” Kyle said. “I just can’t recall when right now.”

“Here’s a crevice. I can slide down.”

“Go,” Kyle said.

The cracked rock had a narrow chute that dropped perhaps twenty feet. It was a good start, and would cause the enemy to have to maneuver again. Wade squirmed and cursed, stuck in the tight confines. Finally, he looped his ruck’s strap around his ankle and let it dangle.

“Please don’t land on the radio,” Kyle said, guts churning.

“I won’t,” Wade said, not joking for the time being.

There were scraping and slipping noises as he dropped out of view, and one slight bang of the carbine against the side. Kyle eased forward and looked over. Wade was scrabbling lower, the native garb hindering him somewhat.

Then he was down. “Nasima, you’re next,” he said.

She gulped and said, “Okay.” She handed the pistol to Kyle. Shimmying around, she got over the split and paused, a scared look on her face. “What do I do now?” she asked.

“Hang your legs over, then press one forward and one back to hold yourself in place,” Kyle said.

She nodded and twisted. An indication of her fear was that her skirt hiked well up her thighs, and she didn’t seem bothered. She was too busy holding on. “What next?” she asked, voice tight but controlled.

“Move your rear foot forward and down below the other,” he said. “Then just walk down with your back to the wall.” Wade had been able to scissor across the gap, but Nasima had too little length for that.

He held her hand as she worked lower. It wasn’t of any real use as support, but if it kept her morale up, it was a good thing. The friction pulled her robe up until it was past her head. It would be full of grit, too, though that seemed minor. Nor did Kyle have any time to bother with a great view of her body. He took one glance, pulled his eyes away, and focused on the descent.

She slipped past his grip with a look of panic but didn’t fall.

“Keep going,” he said in encouragement. She nodded once and stepped down, down.

Wade called from below, “Almost here. I won’t touch you, because that would make you fall.”

“Okay,” she said, and kept moving.

Then she was down, and leaning against the side in relief. Kyle started to twist around for his own descent.

That’s when the fire started.

He swore, spun, fell rather than dropped into the crack and shoved both hands out. He slipped at once, caught with one foot, tumbled sideways and cracked his skull and shoulder. Eyes tearing up, he shoved both hands out to keep from falling farther, and worked his feet down. Three healthy steps that strained the backs of his thighs got him down.

“Where the hell did that come from?” he asked as he shook off the pain and jitters.

“Across,” Wade said. They were all bunched up together. The crack was wider at the bottom, but still very cramped. It was hard to maneuver.

“They’ve got us pegged. Where do we cover?” he asked.

“Right here for now,” Wade said. “We can clear the front, then move into those rocks below.”

Kyle looked down where Wade was pointing as he handed Nasima back the Beretta.

“Okay,” he nodded. “Nasima, we’ll tell you when to fire, but if someone is within thirty feet, give them two shots. Only two. If they don’t flinch, give two more. Ammo is low.”

“Two shots at a time. I understand,” she said. She was still rearranging her dress, but didn’t seem flustered anymore.

“Target,” Wade whispered.

“Where?” Kyle replied, unslinging the Enfield and raising it.

“Large outcropping ahead, up twenty degrees. Left and below. Man with AK. Two hundred,” Wade said.

Two hundred meters. Kyle found the place, found the man, leaned against the cliff for support and worked the bolt. He squeezed the long trigger, and felt the shot kick him. The noise was deafening in the tight confines, but he rode through it.

The shot was good, and the man jerked and crumpled.

“I suggest we get lower right now,” Kyle said. He dropped prone and slithered out onto a shelf.

“Yeah,” Wade said. “Go, Nasima.”

It was none too soon. As soon as the target’s buddies figured out what had happened, they cut loose with everything. Automatic fire scythed across the rock face, and Kyle jerked as a spent, flattened bullet dropped in front of him.

“What an exposed place we have here!” Wade said. “There’s rocks below. Over the edge, quick!”

Kyle was glad of the information, and rolled over at once. He didn’t look. There wasn’t time, and he trusted Wade implicitly. Wade was his spotter. Just as Jeremy had been. But Wade was still alive, and Kyle intended to maintain that state of affairs.

They were all down and hunkered in a cluster of rock, with thick, desiccated dirt underfoot.

“How’s the time?” Kyle asked. He and Nasima had their backs to boulders and the enemy. Wade was sprawled low and facing them.

“Forty minutes,” Wade said.

“I say we stay here for a few,” Kyle said. “If they get nasty, we’ll move lower. But there’s a limit on how far down we can go.”

“Okay.”

Another flurry of shots hit the area above them. Kyle wasn’t sure if the enemy thought they were still there, or were unable to get a better angle.

Two minutes later, he had an answer, as a round cracked right over his rock. Someone had either seen them earlier and told the others, or was seeing them now. If the latter, it was time to move.

Another round snapped between Nasima and him, making her flinch and gasp. Yes, someone had spotted them. Time to move down another layer.

“Wade, out to your right and down more.”

“Sure, it’s my pleasure to act as decoy,” he said. He pushed with his feet, crawled over the lowest part of the rock and crawled down. As his knees cleared the edge, he dropped suddenly.

Nasima went next, Kyle holding her feet while Wade took her hands and swung her down. Another shot cracked overhead as he released her, and he dove over himself, ruck catching on something. He was hung by his arm for just a second, then it snapped free.

“Not bad,” Kyle said. They had solid, tall spires of rock on three sides. The valley notched to their right, spreading out into a broad arc. To their left, it ran alongside, but one convenient tower of granite would block incoming fire until the enemy moved around.

There was the risk of being infiltrated from below, of course. Kyle wasn’t sure what to do about that.

Fire started coming from above and to the right.

Kyle swung, found a target, and shot without waiting for Wade. Someone was leaning over a shelf with an AK. It wasn’t accurate fire, but there was a lot of it. He put a round through the man and cycled the bolt.

A torrent of rounds came in reply. The snipers and Nasima ducked, shifted, and tried to find better holes to shoot from.

“Warn us before you do that again, huh?” Wade said, humorously brave in face of disaster.

“Yeah,” Kyle agreed. He hoped the 160th SOAR was fast. This was beyond terrifying. Nasima was crouched in back, a good place for her, and clutching the pistol. Hopefully, they wouldn’t let the enemy get close enough for her to need to shoot.

The fire from the above right wasn’t slacking off. It seemed they were going to shoot until the rock was chipped to nothing. Every few seconds, a round would find one of the gaps between the spires and crack past. But Wade had found a small trough that led under and shimmied into it. He fired several rounds. Incoming fire paused for just a second as the onslaught hit them, and Kyle rose rifle first, leaned, shot, and dropped back down. He’d only had a moment, but a man’s head had been in his sights.

“Miss,” Wade reported as he came back out. “Close, but a miss. They’ll think twice about standing up, though.”

“Yeah, let’s watch that side. Or do we split?” Kyle asked. “And how long?”

“I’ll cover up, you cover down. There’ll be fewer targets, we hope, and not expecting it. Thirty-two minutes.”

“Good.”

They shifted, and Kyle flashed a smile to Nasima, who was crying but trying to smile as tears streaked her cheeks. She was doing better than most recruits, and far better than he’d have expected.

“Soon,” he said.

She nodded quickly.

The squad from the far side was working its way down into the ravine, intermittently visible. “Wade, spot now,” he said.

Wade fired five rounds rapid and shimmied back over.

“What? Ah,” he said, as Kyle indicated. “Start at top and back, I’ll spot you down.”

“Right,” Kyle said. In a moment, he slumped over the rock, aimed, and squeezed. The man had been just stretching to place his foot for a step, and died with a bullet through the top of his chest.

“Outcropping below him, man to left hidden,” Wade said.

“Waiting,” Kyle said. Waiting. The enemy knew they were under fire now, and were being more cautious. Though the enemy now behind them were picking the fire back up. Kyle reminded himself he had solid cover, and steeled himself not to flinch.

Patience paid off. His target stood, and Kyle plugged one right through his skull.

Just as he did, Wade said, “Notch in rock below and right, one man,” and Kyle swung and shot. Miss.

An explosion rocked them, shards of granite showering down. They stung and burned and cut the flesh.

“RPG!” Kyle shouted. His ears were ringing. “Move now!” he said, and reached back to clutch Nasima’s hand.

Wade fired four short bursts on auto, then tossed a grenade down ahead of them. There was no need to risk a face-to-face encounter. On a count of three, it exploded, throwing debris back up. Kyle already had tossed a high-concentration white smoke grenade behind them, and amid the billowing, acrid cloud they jumped over.

It worked. They weren’t shot. The smoke also seemed to confuse some of the al Qaeda, who fired furiously into it. Two of them were standing up as they did so. Wade got one, Kyle got the other.

“Where the hell is that RPG?” Kyle asked. What else was along? A mortar? Machine guns?

“Not sure,” Wade replied.

Fire slacked off audibly. That set alarm bells ringing in Kyle’s head. They might be leaving, but they also might be . . .

“To our left!” Wade shouted.

A handful of men were dodging through the rocks, and Kyle fired five times as fast as he could work the bolt. He hit at least one, who flinched and fell. He had no idea if it was a wound or a kill. Nasima fired two rounds, then two more. Wade was firing about once a second. He also nailed at least one.

“Close on them,” Kyle said.

“Right,” Wade agreed.

Kyle pulled Nasima forward. “Trust me,” he said. There were no more than six or seven bad guys to their three, and their buddies were demonstrating that they wouldn’t shoot into that crowd. Kyle just hoped that stayed true. He didn’t like six to three odds, with an untrained civilian in the three, but it was better than the twenty to three or worse they’d been facing.

Nasima fired again at once. Good girl, Kyle thought. No one had told her not to. He fired twice more, then once again, while Wade tossed a grenade. “Fireinthehole!” he shouted and they all dropped.

The grenade banged like the devil on a trashcan, the sound assaulting them from all sides. Wade had made a quick, dangerous battlefield calculation, and there was a bare lip between them and the grenade blast, that deflected the shock wave and only left an overpressure pulse to snatch at their breath.

Wade stood, leaned over and fired an antipersonnel cartridge from the 40mm. There shouldn’t be much left interested in screwing with them, but they came over the ledge with weapons out. Nasima shot twice at a twitching body, and hit it at least once.

“Good girl!” Kyle said. He was starting to think they’d get out of this yet. Someone else moved, and Kyle put a round through him. It was amazing, he thought, how the rocks reflected and dispersed shock waves and fire.

The incoming bullets picked up the pace again. Wade said, “May as well use the HE now. Agreed?”

“Do it,” Kyle said. Wade nodded and grabbed his four remaining 40mm grenades. He ducked low, picked a target that seemed to be a source of trouble, and fired. He opened the action, reloaded, picked another.

Massive fire came in retaliation, from a machine gun. Kyle spotted the puffs of dust around its muzzle and started methodical fire at it. On his third round, it stopped. He shoved another clip of five rounds into the Enfield to keep the magazine topped off.

“Better drop lower again,” Wade said. “And twenty-seven minutes.”

“Lower,” Kyle agreed. He wasn’t sure they’d survive that long, however, but was damned if he’d give up. He might wind up using the Enfield as a club before this was over.

They crawled downward, weaving through jutting chunks of rock. If the estimate of thirty bad guys was correct, Kyle thought, then they should be down to about fifteen. Of course, there may have been more, or they may have called for backup. It occurred to him that they could listen in on the enemy’s radio, too, but that would take personnel and time they didn’t have.

There was a sloping curve of granite, its surface fairly smooth. There was nothing to do but slide feet first down it and hope the drop at the end wasn’t too high.

“Me first, then drop the radio,” Kyle said.

“Got it,” Wade agreed.

Trying not to think, Kyle slid up and over, and shoved to get moving. He got to vertical and fell about seven feet, landing hard. He fell backward and would have cracked his tailbone but for his gear. It cushioned well enough, though the impact jarred his whole torso and neck. No additional damage was done, but his already injured foot flared in pain.

What he hadn’t considered was how Wade would know when to drop his gear. Wade had figured that out. The ruck appeared, hooked on Nasima’s right foot. He nodded and held up his arms, she released it. It thumped him hard in the chest, knocking his breath out, but it was a good catch. He laid it down carefully, held his arms back up, and Nasima let go of Wade.

She dropped, dress tangling, and it was a good thing Kyle caught her. There was no way she would have made the landing with all that fabric caught on her legs.

Moments later, Wade dropped down, too, staggering but not falling. “Okay, they’ll have to acquire us yet again.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Kyle said. “Look.” Wade looked.

They were now in the very bottom of the ravine, with stark walls on two sides and a steep climb on a third. The way forward was fairly level and would leave them exposed.

“Let’s hope the choppers are fast,” Kyle said. “This is as far as we go.”

“So let’s stall for time and then shoot when we have to,” Wade said.

“What else can we do?”


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Framed