“We’ll need backup,” Brown said.
“You guys are right,” I said. “Go back down there,
tell that private we need a digging team out here and
two rifle squads. Then get right back.”
As they were about to leave, Ramirez and Nolan
opened fire on the tunnel ahead, and I remembered only
then that all other exits had been blocked by the cave-
ins. There was only one way out.
Brown realized it as well and said, “Guess, we ain’t
going anywhere . . . yet!”
“All right, everybody, mask up!” I said. I didn’t like
162 GH OS T RE CON
it, especially within the confines of the tunnel, but the
Taliban guys were ready for us, so we had no choice. I
fished out a couple of CS gas canisters and let them fly
down the tunnel.
We waited as the gas hissed into a thick fog, and then
we rushed forward, enveloped in the smoke, Brown and
Smith covering our rear, Treehorn and Ramirez up front.
“How deep does this go?” I said aloud, though no one
could hear me. We ventured on at least another hundred
meters, then turned to our left and saw an opening and
the faint stars beyond.
Treehorn and Ramirez moved up front and signaled
to me that they’d check it out.
I gave them a thumbs-up and kept back with the oth-
ers. They reached the opening, a narrow leaf-shaped
break in the stone, and shifted warily forward. Both men
vanished for a second, then Ramirez ducked back inside
and waved us on.
We emerged on the mountainside facing Sangsar, and
all the booming from inside the mountain had not gone
unnoticed. Lights burned from the houses nearest the
wall, and two pickup trucks loaded with Taliban were
already bouncing across the desert, en route to us. I
ripped off my mask, as did the others, and then said,
“There’s got to be another entrance. Warris must be
looking for it, too.”
I whirled around, faced the ridgeline, got my bear-
ings, and waved the rest of the team up, toward a cluster
of outcroppings that looked promising.
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163
We got there in a hurry—because several Taliban had
already reached the ridge just below us and had opened
fire. With dirt popping at our knees and making us gri-
mace, we reached a broad wall of stone and ducked
behind it. I waved my team on, one after another, and
we all huddled behind the rock.
“We got a problem,” said Ramirez. “Even if we find
the other entrance, we already know it’s a dead end. And
if we all go in there, they could pin us down, drop in
some grenades, and that ruins my plans to marry a super-
model.”
“Mine, too,” said Smith with a wink.
“All right, Joey, me and you go up and look for the
entrance,” I told Ramirez. “The rest of you set up here
along the rocks. See if you can hold them for a just a
couple of minutes.”
I rushed forward with Ramirez on my heels. We
ascended through a steep passage that reminded me of a
vacation I’d taken to go hiking in Sedona, Arizona.
Ramirez spotted the tunnel exit before I saw it, and we
both came across the top of the next outcropping and
headed toward a narrow seam in the rock. We got within
ten meters when a Taliban fighter appeared.
Again, Ramirez put his lightning-fast reflexes to work
and gunned down the guy before I could blink. We
rushed forward now, coming around him, and came up
on both sides of the entrance. I looked at him, raised
three fingers. On three, two, one—
We rolled away from the wall and rushed inside, him
164 GH OS T RE CON
dropping to one knee to shoot low, me on my feet,
standing tall to strike high.
And there, standing before us, like a lost puppy, was
Warris’s private, the kid who’d driven him up to the
mountain. He clutched his pistol and just looked at us,
trembling. He had to be just eighteen, and thinking
about buying his first shaving kit . . .
“Dude, what the hell are you doing here?” asked
Ramirez.
He lowered his weapon. “I heard the shooting. I
came up to help.”
“You had orders to stay there,” I said.
“Didn’t seem like anybody was obeying orders.”
I snickered. “What’s your name?”
“It’s right here on my uniform.”
I ripped off the Velcro-attached name patch and read
the word: Hendrickson, then shoved the patch back at
him. “All right, junior, you just got promoted to Special
Forces. Did you see Captain Warris on your way in here?”
“No, sir.”
I cursed. “But this tunnel cuts through the moun-
tain?”
“It does, sir.”
“Any bad guys in there?”
He almost laughed. “Not when I came through, sir.”
“All right.” I was about to turn back to Ramirez
when a series of explosions rocked the mountain, and
just a few seconds later the rest of the team came sprint-
ing up toward the entrance.
A breathless Nolan reported, “RPGs. They’re moving
CO MB AT O P S
165
in fast. We need to move now! Got twenty or thirty
coming up. It’s going to get hairy, boss.”
“Gotcha. Everybody? This is Private Hendrickson. He’s
in charge. Where do we go to get out of here, Private?”
The kid looked around and nearly passed out from
the weight I’d just dumped on his shoulders. After
blinking hard he finally said, “Follow me.”
We dropped in behind him, as the shouts of the Tal-
iban rose behind us. Ramirez set two more CS canisters
just outside the entrance to delay them, while Brown
and Smith hung back to plant a small amount of C-4 on
a remote detonator, which they confirmed still worked.
Once they rejoined us about fifty meters down the
tunnel, they detonated the charges. Twin thunderclaps
shook the walls around us, and I imagined a cave-in that
would help in our escape.
We came around another long curve and reached an
intersecting tunnel. “You go down there?” I asked Ghost
Leader Hendrickson.
“No, sir.”
“Ramirez?” I called. “The rest of you hold here.”
We hustled down the intersecting tunnel, which grew
so narrow at one point that we had to turn sideways just
to pass through. Then it opened back up and filtered
into a broad chamber. To our left was a pile of rocks and
dirt—the cave-in where Warris had been. We were on
the other side now. No sign of him. My light played over
the floor. Nothing. No evidence.
“Well, he ain’t here,” groaned Ramirez.
I tried calling Warris on the radio again. No answer.
166 GH OS T RE CON
Consequently, I stood there, wiping dirt off my nose
and cheeks. “How am I going to explain this shit?”
“When we get out, we need to get on the same page,”
Ramirez said. “And we need to buy the kid.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“He overheard everything. He’s a problem.”
“Whoa, Joey.”
“Scott, Harruck wants to burn you. Warris is MIA.
This is way out of control.”
“I know. Let’s just get out of here, then we’ll talk to