“Oh my,” she blurted, “that’s not good.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say.”
“How’d you find out?” Michelle asked. “I’m always amazed by your ability to ferret out information.”
“It’s not magic,” the man said. “I have so many senators and other politicians in my pocket I’ve had to buy larger pants.”
“Any word on how it’s going?”
“I guess the mission is proving harder than the president envisioned,” he said. “Chris is apparently leading a hunter-killer squad to locate the bad guys. Limited contact so far—but my sources claim it is cold and dirty work. If he doesn’t contact you for a while, don’t be surprised.”
“I’m afraid for him,” Michelle said slowly.
“Do you want me to put in a fix?” the man asked. “Have him pulled out and sent stateside?”
“I thought he made you agree never to do that.”
“He did,” the man admitted.
“Then don’t.”
“I’ll call you when I know more.”
“Are you going to be down this way soon?” Michelle asked.
“I’ll call you if I am,” the man said. “Now I’d better go—I’m starting to get static on the satellite line. Must be sunspots.”
“Pray our boy is safe,” she said.
“I might do more than that,” the man said as the call ended.
Michelle replaced the receiver in its cradle and sat back. Her ex-beau was not one to show worry or fear. Still, his concern for his son had been palpable and personal.
She could only hope his worry was misplaced, and that Chris would come home soon.
Rising from the desk, she walked toward the artist. “Tell me you have something good,” she said easily.
“Outside in the van,” the artist said, “and I think you’ll like it.”
FOUR HOURS AFTER sunrise, one thousand feet higher up the ridge from the camp where they had spent the night, Hunt’s platoon met a determined enemy. The fire came from a series of caves just above and to the east. And it came all at once. Rifle fire, rocket-propelled grenades, mortars, handgun fire rained down. The enemy dynamited the mountain to create rock slides, pelting the ground below, and they had mined the ground where Hunt’s troops sought refuge.
The enemy’s goal was to wipe out Hunt’s team all at once—and they would come close.
Hunt had taken refuge behind a series of boulders. Bullets were ricocheting off the rocks to all sides, sending chips flying through the air and striking his men. There was nowhere to hide, no way to advance, and their retreat had been cut off by a rock slide.
“Radio,” Hunt shouted.
Half his team was twenty yards ahead, another quarter ahead and to the left. Luckily, his radio operator had stayed close to the lieutenant. The man edged toward Hunt on his back to protect the radio. For his effort he received a wound to his kneecap when a bullet grazed his raised knee as the man pushed himself closer. Hunt dragged him the rest of the way.
“Antencio,” Hunt shouted to a man a few feet away, “take care of Lassiter’s wound.”
Antencio scurried over and began cutting away the radio operator’s pants. He found the opening was not deep and began to wrap a bandage around the knee as Hunt flicked on the radio and adjusted the dial.
“You’re going to be okay, Lassiter,” he said to the radio operator. “I’m going to get us some help in here posthaste. Then we’ll have you medevaced.”
The fear in the soldiers’ faces was obvious. For most of them, as for Hunt, this was their first time in battle. As their leader, he needed to take control and form a plan.
“Control, Control, Advance Three,” Hunt yelled into the microphone, “need positive support, grid three zero one eight. Taking heavy fire.”