Marcus opened fire on the guerrillas down below.

He killed two that were standing in the bed of one of the trucks, reloading their rocket launcher. With another two bursts, he wounded two more crouching near the second pickup. Then he grabbed the wounded Marine and moved right, concealing his position behind the smoke pouring out of the destroyed Sikorsky above him. He ejected his partially spent magazine and loaded another, this one packed with tracer rounds. Then he aimed at the gas tank of the second truck and fired again. In an instant, the gas tank ruptured. Fuel began pouring out like a river, and Marcus had created his opportunity. He continued firing, one burst and then another. The tracer rounds ignited the fumes. The truck exploded, causing the fuel tank of the other truck to detonate as well. The booms could be heard up and down the valley.

Marcus hoisted the wounded Marine back over his shoulder. He knew he had to get to higher ground. He’d seen a cave near the top of the ridge, about seventy-five yards beyond the wreckage of the helicopter he’d been flying on. This was his new objective. Using the chaos of the moment, he proceeded to work his way farther up the mountain. But just then gunfire erupted again from the road below them. Marcus could hear rounds whizzing past his head and ricocheting off the rocks around them. Fortunately, Nick Vinetti reengaged, providing desperately needed covering fire. One by one, the sniper picked off the remaining Taliban fighters. Yet when Marcus finally reached the burning wreckage of the Super Stallion in which they had arrived, he found Nick badly burned, in terrible pain, and nearly out of ammunition. What’s more, he was surrounded by charred and smoking bodies.

Sergeant McDermott was not there. Nor was Senator Dayton.

Through gritted teeth, Nick quickly explained that after the first spray of bullets had riddled the chopper, the sergeant and several of the young DoD guys had decided to carry the senator up to the cave to keep him out of the line of fire. They had just come back to get a first aid kit, bottles of water, and other supplies when the RPG had hit. Most of them were killed, Nick said. Sarge was alive but in pretty bad shape. Still, he’d led the survivors back up to the cave. That’s where Marcus should take the Marine on his shoulders, Nick said, then wait there for him. He’d get there as soon as he could. Meanwhile he would stay here and provide cover until his dwindling ammo was gone.

Marcus took the advice —part of it, anyway. There was nothing he could do for Nick just now, and he did need to get this wounded Marine to safety. But he would not stay and wait in the caves. Instead, he promised to be back with painkillers and more ammunition. It took longer than he’d figured to make the climb, however. The terrain was far steeper than he’d expected, and when he got there, he was stunned to find so few survivors. The only passengers left alive were McDermott, the senator —who had blacked out —Annie Stewart, and two foreign service officers. All had been injured in the explosion to one degree or another. One of the FSOs had also been shot and was bleeding badly. McDermott had second- and third-degree burns on his hands and face, but despite his own pain he was doing everything he could to stanch the man’s wounds.

The other FSO was in shock. He was sitting to one side of the cave, shivering and mumbling incoherently. Miss Stewart, on the other hand, was at McDermott’s side. From the looks of it, she actually had some medical training and was presently injecting the FSO with a shot of something. The woman had blood all over her face and hands. Whether it was mostly hers or someone else’s wasn’t immediately clear. She had obviously been hit by shards of flying glass and burning metal. But she was alive, and now she was valiantly trying to save her colleagues.

“I need something for Vinetti,” Marcus said as he caught his breath.

“Painkillers?” McDermott asked.

“Right —something —he’s in bad shape.”

“We don’t have any more,” McDermott replied. “We just used the last of it.”

Marcus asked for more rounds for Nick’s M40 sniper rifle. Again McDermott had to inform him there were none to be had. All their supplies had been on the chopper.

“How soon till reinforcements arrive?” Marcus asked.

“They’ll get here when they get here.”

“Sir?”

“The radio was destroyed in the blast.”

“We’re not in communication with Kabul?”

“No, Lance Corporal Ryker, we are not. Now let me do my job.”

Marcus looked at the FSO dying in front of him. He’d stopped breathing. He was pale. His blood pressure was visibly dropping. They were losing him. McDermott began giving him mouth-to-mouth. Just then, Pete and the surviving Marines from the second chopper arrived at the mouth of the cave. Pete raced to McDermott’s side and took over. His comrades moved to help the others. Marcus said a silent prayer. They needed more than luck to get off this mountain alive. They needed divine intervention.

When he’d whispered an amen, he told Sergeant McDermott he needed to get back and help Vinetti. Sarge didn’t need to be asked twice. He gave his assent, and Marcus raced back down the mountain. As he did, he could see a cloud of dust on the dirt road, approaching from the south. As it neared, he could make out a convoy of a half-dozen white Toyota pickup trucks. Each was filled with Taliban. Their situation, already precarious, was worsening by the minute.

The closest U.S. military presence was at the forward operating base near Kandahar. But that was at least sixty miles away to the south, and it was currently consumed in a sand- and dust storm that could last for hours. Kabul was some two hundred miles away to the north. The closest American aircraft carriers were operating in the Indian Ocean, and that was a good four hundred miles away, maybe more. So who was coming to help them? From what direction? How long was it going to take them to get there? Marcus had no answers, and McDermott no longer had any means of contacting his superiors, much less any friendly forces in the region.