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kept hearing an explosion in my head, that imaginarygoing off over and over.beam of my penlight was jittering across theand the floor until I slowed and aimed it directly.darkness. No end to the tunnel in sight.stopped, held up my palm to Treehorn. “This couldone of the biggest tunnel networks in the entire,” I whispered.
“Yeah,” he said. “Goes all the way to China.”grinned crookedly at his quip, then started on once, turning a slight bend, then eating my words.tunnel abruptly dead-ended. Unfinished. In fact,Taliban still had excavation tools lining the walls:, pickaxes, wheelbarrows...looked at Treehorn.
“Well, Iain’t digging us out of here,” he groaned.put my finger to my lips. Footsteps. Growing closer.
WENTY-T WOas a team leader in an ever-changing environ-with ever-changing rules and restrictions becomes,my father once put it, “an abrasive on the soul.” Hav-toiled many years in the GM plant and enjoyed asyears out in his woodshop, Dad was a man whopredictability. He did repetitive work at the, and when he created his custom pieces of furni-, he most often worked from a blueprint and fol-it to the letter. He felt at peace with a plan hefollow. He always taught me that practice makes, that repetition is not boring and can make youexpert, and that people who say they just “wing it”hardly as successful as those who plan their work and
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their plan. He told me he could never do what I, though, because he would never find satisfaction in. He needed something tangible to hold on to, sit on,, admire... and he needed a plan that wouldchange. My father was a curmudgeon to be sure.’d argue about this a lot. But when I slipped offmy own little woodshop to produce projects for myand fellow operators, I understood what Dad wasto tell me. You cannot replace the satisfaction ofalone, of listening to that voice in your head asguides you through a piece of furniture. There wasbeauty in solitude, and I sometimes wonderedI should’ve become a sniper instead of a team. The exquisite artistry of making a perfect shota mile out deeply intrigued me.enough, I was pondering that idea while Tree-and I stood in that tunnel, completely cut off. II’d had the luxury of only worrying about myselfof feeling wholly responsible for him. When Ia sergeant, my CO would tell me that I’d get used tobut it would never get any easier. I doubted. I assumed I’d find a comfort zone. But there isn’t. Not for me. There’s a happy place of denial that Ito when things go south, but I can only visit there forperiods before they kick me out., the big sniper was at my shoulder, in my charge,I swore to myself I would not get him killed.figure materialized from the darkness.shifted reflexively in front of Treehorn as the figure’s
GH OS T RE CONcame up and a second person shifted up behind the. I was blinded for a second, about to pull the trigger,the shout came:
“Captain! Hold fire!”recognized the voice. Ramirez. His light came.sighed. My beating heart threatened to crack a rib.
“Joey, how the hell did you get in here?”
“We saw you get pinned down. So we came back up,through a couple of rocks. It looks a lot worseit is. It caved in, but up near the top of the pile wea way in.”
“You all right?” Brown asked, moving up behind.
“We’re good. I want C-4 at the intersection. What’son outside?”
“Rest of the team’s at the rally point,” Ramirez said.
“A couple more Bradleys came up. They put some seri-fire on the mountains, so those bastards have fallen. I think we’re clear to exit.”looked hard at Ramirez. “Thanks for coming back.”averted his gaze.reaction made me wonder if he’d come backbecause Brown had spotted us and left him no. Or maybe he was trying to get past what hadand show me he still had my back; I just didn’t.shook off the thought, and we got to work. Withinminutes we had the charges ready.
“You sure about this?” Treehorn asked. “Still got that
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tunnel down there where they had the ladder...knows what’s up there...”
“We can’t leave this open. We need to make it harderthem to cross over without being seen.”
“You’re the boss,” he said. “Bet there’s another exithaven’t found, anyway. If we get back up here, wesearch for that one, too.”nodded. “I bet we’ll get our chance.”left the intersection and reached the toweringof dirt and rock, noting the fresh exit created byand Brown, just a narrow, two-meter-long tun-near the ceiling. We’d crawl on our hands and kneesexit. I was concerned about all the rock and dirtus and the charges, so I gave Brown the orderdetonate before we left. He clicked his remote. Noth-. I knew it. We’d gone too far off for the signal tothrough the rock.then I wondered if maybe his remote detonatorbeen damaged by the HER F guns. I’d forgottenthat. We all had.
“I’ll do it,” said Ramirez, removing the detonatorBrown’s hand.
“And I’ll come with you,” said Brown, hardening his. “Could go with a regular fuse.”
“I’ll be right back.” Ramirez took off running.
“Go after him,” I ordered Brown. I had visions ofblowing himself up. “The detonator might not.”
“Like I said, I’ve got some old-school fuses. We’llit up.”
GH OS T RE CONbegan pushing his way through the exit hole.was just wide enough for the big guy, and he moanedgroaned till he reached the other side.he called back to me, “Hey, boss, why don’tcome out? We’ll wait for them on the other side.”
“You watch the entrance,” I told him. “We’ll all bein a minute. You scared to be alone?”snorted. “Not me...”far off down the tunnel came the shuffling of, a shout of “Hey!” from Brown. Aw, hell, I neededknow what was happening. “Treehorn, if we’re notin five, you go! You hear me?”
“Roger that, sir! What’s going on?”let his question hang and charged back down the. When I reached the intersection, I found Ramirezone of the Chinese guys toward me. The guy’swere zipper-cuffed behind his back, and Brownshouldering the guy’s backpack while he lit the fusethe C-4.
“Look what we found,” Ramirez quipped. “Theya ladder over there, and he came down here for.”Chinese guy suddenly tore free from Ramirezbolted past us, back into the dead-end tunnel.started after him.
“Fuse is lit,” shouted Brown.
“It’s a dead end, Joey!” I told him.
“Good! He’s a valuable prisoner,” Ramirez screamed.cursed, removed his knife, and hacked off the
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fuse. “I want to blow something up,” he said.
“I haven’t got all night.”made a face. No kidding.unexpected report of Treehorn’s rifle stole my. He screamed from the other side of the cave-: “Got a few stragglers coming up! Let’s go! Let’s go!”ran after Ramirez, and I found him at the dead end.Chinese guy was lying on his back, straddled by, and my colleague was pummeling the prisonerin the face.the image was shocking, I understood verywhere Ramirez was coming from. He needed abag, and unfortunately he’d found one. I won-if he’d kill the guy if I didn’t intervene. I gasped,Ramirez’s wrist, and held back his next blow.prisoner’s face was already swollen hamburger, hisbleeding.
“What’re you doing?” I yelled.just looked at me, eyes ablaze, drool spillinghis lips. “He wouldn’t come. Now he will.”cursed under my breath. “Let’s get out of here.”dragged the prisoner to his feet and shifted him, and then suddenly the Chinese guy spat blood,at me, and said, “I’m an American, you assholes!”left hand doesn’t know what the right hand is doing.father used to say that all the time when referring toand upper management and to Washington and. I was no stranger to decentralization, to being
GH OS T RE CONa mission and realizing only after the fact that hey,else has the same mission. That my commandersoften not made privy to CIA and NSA operations inarea was a given; that spook operations would interfereour ability to complete our mission was also a given.a Chinese guy we captured in the tunnel wouldup his identity was damned surprising.
“I’m CIA!” he added, spitting out more blood. “Ito bail on my mission.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because I know who you are. I can smell you a mile. Special Forces meatheads. I’m not at liberty toto you monkeys.”snickered. “Then why are you talking now?”
“Look at my face, asshole!”
“Why’d you run?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“What the hell are you doing here?”smirked. “What’re youdoing here?”looked at Ramirez. “Cut him loose and help himoutside, then cuff him again.”
“Hey, spooky,” I said, breathing in the guy’s ear. “Ifresist, we monkeys will do some more surgery onface. Got it?”turned back and glared.shoved him away. I regarded Brown. “Youto blow this mother?”grinned. “I think this mother is ready to be blown.”
“Indeed.”glowing fuse was, for just a few seconds, hypnotic,
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me there, a deer in the headlights. I thought backthose moments when I was the last kid on the play-, swinging as high as I could, hitting that placethe sky between pure joy and pure terror. The teacherbe shouting my name and I’d swing just a fewseconds, flirting with the combined danger of fall-off and getting in trouble.a slight hiss and even brighter glow, the fusedown even more. I wondered, how long couldremain in the tunnel without blowing ourselves up?
“Okay, boss, let’s go!” cried Brown.blinked hard and looked at him.
“Scott, you okay?”stared through him. Then... “Yeah, yeah, come, let’s go!”and I had just cleared the other side of the pas-when the explosion reverberated through thelike a freight train beneath our boots.was still near the tunnel’s edge, the starshim. He was crouched down, his rifle raised high.
“Still out there,” he said. “Just waiting to take some pot-at us.”
“We need to get those Bradley gunners to help sup-that fire so we can make a break,” I said.
“How?” asked Treehorn. “No comm.”
“What’re you talking about?” I said. “We’re the. If we were slaves to technology we’d never getdone. Watch this, buddy...”
GH OS T RE CONfished out my penlight and began flashing SOS.
“Are you serious?” he asked me.
“As a heart attack, bro.”the Taliban to our flank and above us couldthe tiny light, I wasn’t sure, but I continued for a full, then turned back to the guys.then it came: a flashing from one of the Bradleys.
“What’re they saying?” asked Treehorn.
“I have no clue. I don’t remember my Morse code.we are good to go. So listen up. I’m going to makebreak. I’ll draw the first few rounds. You guys hold offsecond or two, then get in behind me and we’ll takepath to the east. Those Bradley gunners are ready,’m sure. Got it?”
“Why don’t we send out the spook to make a break?”Brown. “He wants to run away so badly.”
“Hey, that’s a good idea,” I said. “You want to go,?”
“I like your plan better,” he said, licking the bloodhis lips.
“I figured you would. Hey, you don’t happen to knowguy named Bronco?” I wriggled my brows.
“Yeah, he’s my daddy.”
“Well, let’s get you home to Papa.” With that, Ifrom the cave, drawing immediate fire from thebehind our right flank. I had no intention ofhit and practically dove for the next sectionboulders that would screen me.the Taliban had revealed themselves by firing at, the Bradley gunners drilled them with so many
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and tracers that the valley looked like a space com-scene from a science fiction movie, flickering red trac-arcing between the valley and the mountainside.hollered to go. Treehorn, Ramirez, and thecame charging down toward my position.brought up the rear.they linked up with me, I led them fartherwhile the Bradley gunners continued to cover us.were clearly identified as friendlies now.mouth had gone dry by the time we reached thepoint five minutes later, and I asked if anyone had a. Ramirez pushed one into my hands and said,
“Our boy’s got some explaining, eh?” He cocked aat the prisoner.
“Should be interesting...”Bradley gunners broke fire, and for a few long, an utter silence fell over the mountains...glanced back at Hume, who was still sitting near’s body. A sobering moment to be sure. If I staredlonger, I feared my lungs would collapse.of the silence, in an almost surreal cry, a lonefighter cut loose a combination of curse words’d probably memorized from a hip-hop song. Once hishad echoed away, roars of laughter came from theand dismounted troops around the Bradleys.’d never heard anything like that. The Taliban wereyelling how great God was—not swearing at usour own language. And I didn’t want them polluted
GH OS T RE CONAmerica. I wanted them maniacal and religious and. They seemed a more worthy adversary that. To believe they could be influenced by us was, in a, disconcerting.had a small planning room, and we all filed in,the metal chairs, and took seats around a rick-card table. The spook’s face had been cleaned up byof Harruck’s medics, and he was demanding toa phone call.
“What do you think this is?” I asked him. “County?”
“We’ll get to your phone call,” Harruck told thein a softer tone than I’d used. He faced me. “Whathell is going on? Did you destroy the caves?”
“Most of them.”
“And him?”took a deep breath and exhaled loudly for effect.
“He’s CIA and posing as a Chinese opium buyer or. His cover got blown. He ran into us before heskip town.”
“I demand to be released.”
“Those are good demands,” said Harruck. “We like. Just give me a couple of minutes.”
“No, right now.”’s expression darkened. “What the hell arepeople doing on my mountain? Why is your back-full of opium? What the hell is your mission here?”
“Aren’t you going to ask me about my face?”
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looked at me. “No, I’m not.”door suddenly opened and in walked Bronco,by one of Harruck’s lieutenants.spoke rapidly. “Captain, we appreciate yourand assistance here, and if there’s nothing else, I’dto escort my colleague off the base.”eyed an empty chair. “Sit down, Bronco.”
“Whoa, take it easy there, Joe. You got no idea what’re dealing with here.”smote a fist on the card table, and it nearly col-. “I just lost another man. And I’m not walkingof here until you tell us what’s going on, what youris here, and how it might affect what we’re try-to do. As a matter of fact, XO, do us a favor and lockdoor. Armed guard outside. No one’s leaving untiltwo spooks cough up the truth.”
“You can’t do that, buddy. We have the right to walkof here.”
“Yes, you do. But we’re way out here in the middle of,” I said. “And we’re all going to get along, otherwise bad things will happen. Bad things.”shifted up to me. “Don’t threaten me, soldier. I’ve been at this a lot longer than you. And as far as’re concerned, you know all you need to.”
“Do you know the location of our captured soldier?”asked the prisoner point-blank.
“No.”
“What’s your name?”thought a moment. “Mike.”
“Okay, Mikey,” I began. “You guys are working on
GH OS T RE CONChinese connection with HER F guns and opium.get that. I’m just a jarhead, a monkey, but I get that.your operation tie directly to Zahed? I just need aor a no.”, sighed, frowned, then sighed again. “Doesoperation link to Zahed? Well... not exactly.”closed my eyes and thought of murder.
WENTY-THREE“opium palaces,” as they were called by the media,mansions constructed by rich drug lords on the out-of Kabul, and a few were beginning to sprout up in. One I’d visited in Kabul was on Street 6 in acalled Sherpur. That place was a four-storywith eleven bedrooms and had been con-with the heavy use of pink granite and lime mar-. The media referred to these mansions as “narcotecture”reference to Afghanistan’s corrupt government. Theremassage showers, a rooftop fountain, and even anthemed nightclub in the basement. The pig thatit was finally busted by the police, but his brother-law was allowed to buy it from him and was renting itfor twelve thousand bucks a week. What a bargain.
GH OS T RE CON, it was that very house, a somewhat infa-landmark now, that Bronco began to talk about.
“So basically what we’d like to do is move Zahed overand dismantle his operation here. He’s got a niceoperation going on with the Chinese and the, so it’s been difficult.”
“We just want to kill or capture him. You want to Let’s Make a Deal,” I said. “No go. We’ve got aclock, and no time for this.”
“Besides,” added Harruck, “we’re not authorized atlevel to negotiate a joint operation with you. Thisall got to go through higher.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Joe,” said Bronco. “Wewant to get Zahed out of here. That’s the truth.”
“You want to put him up in a mansion and turn himan informant. He’s got one of our guys, and he’shim around on TV, threatening to kill him,insane demands, and you want to do businessthis clown.”
“Exactly,” said Mike, gently touching his swollen. “He’s worth a lot more if we keep him operating.not here...”
“So you guys supplied Zahed’s men with the HER Fbecause you knew Special Forces would be sent in.”
“Not true,” said Bronco. “Zahed’s got his own con-, and he’s smart enough to know that you SFare after him. He’s heard all about some of yourTrektoys, and he loves the idea that he can knock
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out with a twenty-dollar gun made in a tent in somealley in China.”
“Oh, he hasn’t knocked us out. Not yet. I don’t needto bring him down.”
“Okay, Mr. Bravado. You’re a badass, we get that,”Mike. “But when it comes to this place, that doesn’tjack.”turned to Harruck. “I think at this point, we shouldthese guys up until we get higher down here andout what the plan is. As far as I’m concerned,’ve both been interfering with our mission.”
“Aw, that’s bullshit, and you know it,” said Bronco.
“I took you to see the old men. I told you what you’reagainst here. And you still don’t even know the halfit. The entire U.S. Army depends on the balance...I told you.”
“Yeah, you told me. Thanks.” I stood. “Do the right, Simon. Hold these guys as long as you can. I’mto see Zahed in the morning.”
“You’re what?” asked Bronco.grinned darkly at both spooks. “Have a good.”’s body would be flown out before noon. We’dthe small prayer service, as we’d had for Beasley,we’d all look at each other and think, We’ve lost oneour brothers and any one of us could be next. When Iback to the billet, I chatted with the guys for a few
GH OS T RE CON, and then we all turned in, emotionally andexhausted.I couldn’t sleep, so I just lay in my rack, staring atcurved ceiling.was listening to his iPod, the tinny rhythmfrom his earbuds. I’d figured him for a hip-hop, but he loved his classic rock. I listened for a while,the tunes carry me back to moments past: my, a stickball game in the middle of the street, awho’d beaten me up at the bus stop, a meetingthe principal when I cheated on a high school trig-exam and my father had come and persuadedprincipal not to punish me too greatly.started crying. My lips tightened, and the deep gri-finally took hold. I fought to remain quiet. But I’t hold back the tears. My father was dead. I wasn’tto his funeral. And I’d just lost another teammate.began to tremble, then clutched the sheets and finallya deep breath. Then I began laughing at myself. Ia deadly combatant, member of a most elite gun clubhighly trained killers. We were unfeeling instrumentsdeath, not whiners and bed wetters.lifted my head and stared through the darkness,the billet to Ramirez’s bunk.was sitting up, watching me.time we attacked the Taliban, they would regroup,arm, and counterattack.were we expecting? That our attacks would so
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them that they would convert to Christian-and pledge to become loyal Wal-Mart customers?didn’t know what time I finally fell asleep, but myread seven forty-one A.M. local time when the firsthad me snapping open my eyes., the guys weren’t springing out of theirbut slowly rising, cursing, and Treehorn yawnedsaid, “And that’s the morning alarm clock, Taliban.”ran outside, bare-chested, wearing only our box-and brandishing our rifles.took in the situation all at once—front gate blownsmithereens, guard house on fire, gate falling inward.gunners in the nests were focusing their fire onsmall sedans, taxis from Kandahar, I guessed, onewhich had probably carried the gate bomber.RPG screamed across the base and struck one ofbarracks, tearing a gaping hole in one side and explod-within.were screaming for all the gunners to cease, and within thirty more seconds, it was over.gunfire, just more shouting, the hiss and pop of, personnel running in multiple directions like antsa sprinkler’s flood. We all stood outside the bil-, and after another moment I reasoned there wasn’telse we could do, so I motioned for the guys toback inside and get dressed and we’d head over tobarracks that’d been hit. Ramirez was last to go back. He hesitated, then turned back to me. “Scott, I,... thanks for keeping all this between us.”
GH OS T RE CONpursed my lips and forced a nod.
“I’m sorry.”breath shortened. “Okay.”the time we reached the barracks, all the fires hadput out and we were asked to remain along a piecetape cordoning off the area. Harruck was there andme the attack was against Gul. “We got a warningthat if we didn’t turn over the governor, we’dattacked.”
“Why didn’t you give me a heads-up?”
“Because I’ve been getting those warnings all the. Most of them are fake or they don’t act on them.order us to leave, say they’ll attack the next day,they don’t.”
“Anyone hurt?”
“Lost two more at the gate. Damn it. Barracks was, thank God. They were already up for chow, andgovernor is staying on the other side, up near the’s nest.”
“Good idea. How’d they get so close to the gate?”
“Gul’s got people coming and going all day. I’m set-up a new roadblock. They’ll need to get past therebefore they get near the gate.”
“Could’ve done that in the first place.”
“Didn’t see the need till now.”sighed. “Live and learn. And Simon, in a little while’m going over to see Shilmani. All they told me was
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they’d set up the meeting with Zahed ‘soon.’ I’mto tell them they’ve got twenty-four hours.”XO came dashing over and faced me. “Captain?’s a call for you in the comm center.”call was from General Keating. I wasn’t surprised.had been forced to release Bronco and his buddy,, after a couple of big shots from the agency flew inKandahar and raised hell. Keating, for his part, wasfrom the piles of dung being hurtled at him fromcompeting agencies. He just wanted to get me in onfun.
“I don’t care what they’re telling me, Mitchell. If youget in there, get our boy out, and drop the fat manthe same time, then we’ve done our job. They’re try-to persuade me to think about this big picture whilecut deals with terrorists and drug runners, but’s not the way we operate, is it?”
“No, sir.”
“Very well, then. Where are we now?”
“Other than what I put in my report?”
“Frankly, Mitchell, I haven’t had time to read your. I’ve had the CIA barking in my ear for two.”
“We took out the cave network. I lost a guy doing it.intercepted an agent.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know all about that.”
“And now I’m working on a meeting with the fathimself.”
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“How the hell will you pull that off?”
“Just leave it to me, sir.”
“And just what do you plan to talk about?”
“I don’t plan to talk about anything, sir, if you hearclearly.”
“Loud and clear, son. Loud and clear.”and I went back out to see Burki and Shilmani.tea. More idle conversation, until a very tall, veryman with a wispy beard arrived and sat with us.
“This is my cousin. He does not wish you to know his.”
“So what do we call him?” asked Treehorn.posed that question to the man, whorapidly in Pashto. Shilmani glanced up and, “You can just call him Muji.”
“Tell him that’s kind of a slang phrase for Mujaha-fighters.”did, then faced us. “He knows. His grand-was one.”
“Okay. Tell him I need to see Zahed right away.”spoke with Muji at length, and all TreehornI could do was sit there, sipping tea. The conversa-sounded like a debate, and finally Shilmani regardedwith a frustrated look. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“I have to see him by tomorrow. No later. Tell himthere is no time to waste. I mean it.”a brief exchange, Muji rose, nodded, and hur-out of the shack.
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“I want you to come to my house for dinner,” said. “Your friend can come, too.”
“Why’s that?” asked Treehorn. “You think that thisbe our last meal?”
“It could be, and I must tell you now that your planput a bullet in Zahed’s head will not work. You needbetter. My cousin tells me that no one seesnow without being strip-searched first. Perhapsweapon could be poison, or something as easily.”
“We’ll think about it. What time tonight?”
“Sundown.”
“Okay, we’ll be there.”drove about a quarter mile down the road, made ourturn to head through the bazaar area, and foundroad blockaded by two pickup trucks.two more sedans roared up behind us, andstarted cursing and shouted, “Ambush!”was about to grab his rifle and jump out of the. I was at the wheel and told him to hang on.
“They’re not firing. Let’s see what’s up.”raised my palms as the men, who for all the worldto be Taliban with turbans and shemaghsacrossfaces, pulled us out of the Hummer.words in Pashto were ignored. I kept asking themthey wanted, what was going on, we weren’t herehurt them. One guy came up and suddenly pulled asack over my head. I started screaming as others
GH OS T RE CONmy hands behind my back and zipper-cuffed.then I really panicked. How the hell could I haveso stupid? Shilmani was probably in bed with Zahedhad arranged this entire pack of lies so that they couldus. Now they’d have threeAmerican prisoners...was screaming and struggling to get free.yelled for him to calm down, we’d be okay.
“We should’ve killed them all!” he said, his voice muf-by the sack presumably over his head. “We should’ve!”shoved me into the backseat of one of the cars,my head down and forcing me to sit.was a Ghost officer. Neither seen nor heard.never once had I been taken prisoner.
WENTY-FOURsomeone used to being in control, I could hardlythat I was helpless and at the mercy of my captors.kept telling myself, You’re Captain Scott Mitchell, D, First Battalion, Fifth Special Forces Group.does not happen to you.emotions flew in chaotic orbits. One second I was, wanting to curse and scream and shove my wayof the car. The next moment I was scared out of my, picturing myself hanging inverted from a ropebeing tortured in ways both medieval and merciless.drove, with Treehorn in the seat next to me. Hetrying to talk, but our captors shouted for him toquiet. They knew a little English. I assumed they
GH OS T RE CON’t answer our questions, so there was no reasontalk until we arrived at wherever we were going.took only small comfort in the fact that Gordonstill locate Treehorn and me via the signals fromGreen Force Tracker Chips (unless, of course, wetaken to a cave or the chips were removed from our). And yes, I had assumed we were being capturedthe Taliban—initially, at least. As the car ride contin-, I began counting off the seconds and trying tohow far they were taking us from the village.tried to make myself feel better by concocting somescheme that involved Bronco and his CIA bud-capturing us for some reason—maybe to threatenor force a conversation, something. Bronco did wieldpower in the village, having longstanding relation-with all the players, so I wouldn’t have put it pastto engage in a little payback and some threats. Hehave paid off some local guys to pick us up andus to him.road grew very rough, jostling us in the seats,the driver directly in front of me began arguingthe passenger. I focused on the conversation, triedbest to ferret out the words, but they always spoke sothat my hearing turned into a skipping CD,... getting... a word... here... there...
“Boss, I’m a little worried,” said Treehorn.
“I know. Don’t talk,” I snapped.men hollered back at us.that point I began to feel sorry for myself. I’llit. I’d grown a little too comfortable in the
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, believing that since Burki wanted me to kill, I could move a bit more freely and not be threat-. Sure, we dressed like the locals and were begin-to grow out our beards, but I’m sure it wasn’tto ID us as foreigners.heard my father telling me, Son, you really screwed. You watched a guy murder another soldier and liedit. You basically got two of your men killed. Andyou’ve gone and gotten yourself captured. Are youa bad day or what? What the hell happened to you?’t you remember what your mom told you? You’re des-for some great things... so I have to ask you, son,the hell happened?eyes were brimming with tears. I kept callinga fool and wanted to apologize to Treehorn. Hegoing to die because I’d made poor decisions. All ofaxioms of leadership didn’t mean a goddamnedto me anymore. The Special Forces creed was a. I had a sack over my head and was being driven to, where a fat man lounged near a pool of lava, sippingtea.started reflecting on everything: my pathetic rela-with women, how I’d tortured poor Kristen formany years, how she kept lying to me and saying thisthe exact relationship she wanted, long-distance and, when I could see the ache in her eyes. Whatof a life had I made for myself? Was I truly happy?all the missions and the sacrifices really worth it?I said, I was really feeling sorry for myself.operator who tells you he has no doubts, that he
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