SULAIMAN MOUNTAINS. SOUTHERN AFGHANISTAN.
Vaccaro ran down the side of the mountain toward the closest large clearing that could be used as an exfiltration point, ignoring her throbbing face, which burned like hell after she had patched it with QuikClot. But at least the blood had stopped, allowing her to see clearly out of her right eye.
But she had bigger problems: the Taliban.
She could hear them in the distance, beyond the bend in the trail as it curved around and up the mountain.
Bastards get an A for effort, she thought, pushing herself, reaching deep into her reserves to gain as much distance from them as possible, to prevent another failed rescue attempt—though this time she had warned KAF of hostiles in the area. Two Apache gunships accompanied the Chinook, call sign Hook Three Two.
She kept the channel open, using it as a beacon for the incoming rescue crew, which was still ten minutes away—the time she had to find an area large enough for the large helicopter to land.
With luck, she hoped to keep enough distance from the posse behind her that the Apaches could lay down a wall of destruction to enable a safe—
A round ricocheted off a boulder in a burst of pulverized rock, followed by another one hammering a stone pine to her left.
Cutting right, she decided to take her chances down another steep incline, this time sliding on her back, feetfirst, pressing the heels of her boots against the terrain, creating enough friction to manage her semicontrolled plunge.
Her back stung as she skidded down the abrupt grade, so she half stood, committing herself to almost running down the slope but taking the pressure off her back and passing it to her legs while she accelerated, widening the gap.
The increased speed, however, came with added risk of losing her footing and tumbling forward, especially as she started to get dizzy, as she briefly lost focus.
Mustering control and blinking to clear her sight in spite of her pounding right temple bringing tears to her eyes, she used her hands to snag low branches, fighting to keep her balance while kicking up dust and making a lot of noise. But at least no one was taking potshots at her.
For now.
She continued, clamping down the pain, remembering the long line of female warriors before her, drawing strength from their iron will, from their unwavering determination to persevere against all odds. She thought of the WASP, of Jackie Cochran and Nancy Love, of their leadership and sacrifice. She recalled their bravery, as well as that of all the women who’d ever served their country, even if that country had failed to recognize their selfless sacrifice for decades. Her thoughts then drifted to Aaron, to her rugged Mossad assassin—a real-life Kidon—who had managed to ignite something in her before sacrificing his life so she could live.
So Vaccaro pushed herself for the sake of her nation, for the sake of the oath she had vowed to keep. She persisted in honor of those who had come before her and out of respect for those who had given their lives for her—to protect the bloody map in her vest, marking the location of a weapon that was unthinkable in the hands of these fanatics.
After a few hundred feet the terrain leveled off into another plateau, this one wider—large enough for the Chinook—with a rocky outcrop at one end where she could hide and wait it out.
Feeling steadily weaker, the throbbing in her head nearly unbearable, Vaccaro brought the radio to her lips and, nearly out of breath, said, “Hook Three Two … Red One One has found … a clearing large enough. Home in on my … beacon … Beware … hostiles in the area.
“Red One One, Hook Three Two, roger. Five minutes out.”
As she heard the reply, Vaccaro noticed a wide fracture in the near-vertical wall of rock next to the outcrop—hairline at the top but widening enough for a person to sneak through as it reached chest level.
A cave?
She approached it, the Colt 1911 in her right hand and the radio in her left, leaning down a bit to peek inside, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness, the smell of mildew and the cooler temperature washing over her. It felt like heaven, especially on her burning face, and she took a lungful of cold and humid air, fighting the dizziness rapidly overtaking her.
She looked behind her and then back inside the cave, the interior of which widened and curved into darkness. Biting her lower lip, Vaccaro considered the trade-offs. The cavern would keep her out of sight, plus she could spot people coming in, as they would be backlit while she remained in the dark recesses. But, on the other hand, she would be trapped, without an escape route.
Making her decision, she stepped inside, her exposed skin goose bumping from the drop in temperature as she said, “Hook Three Two, be advised Red One One hiding in cave at north end of clearing. Anything that moves out there is hostile.”
“Roger that, Red One One. Three minutes out. Pop smoke.”
“Roger,” she replied, reaching for her last MK-13 flare. She hesitated before pulling the rings at the ends of the five-inch-long cylinder, realizing doing so was a double-edged sword that would signal the incoming crew as well as her pursuers.
“So be it,” she said, pulling on the rings and tossing the flare as far as she could before vanishing into the cave.