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SHEPARD TOOK THE LEAD.
He moved forward in an awkward, hunched fashion. He was from a different generation of soldiers. He had been taught to approach a hostile environment by shooting first. His guys had been trained to stay safe first, to keep their guns low, to avoid friendly fire. It was a concept Shepard didn’t understand.
The three men walked into the forest for about twenty yards. The guy to the right and behind Shepard crept along, covering the right flank. The helicopter had recoiled and rose higher into the sky. The pilot hovered and circled the area to give them a bird’s-eye view. Shepard was the only one with an earpiece and radio that gave him direct communication with the pilot.
One of the other men held grenades.
The guy on the right had the backup magazines. He was in charge of carrying extra supplies, which made him feel like the least important member of the squad, but it was better than being dead. He had his G36, his Glock, and a Ka-Bar 1280 Combat Kukri Blade with black Kraton G handle. The blade was eight and a half inches long and sharp. It was an unusual knife because of its long blade that curved inward. It was his lucky knife, and he had served with it for years.
He looked back at Shepard and saw he was giving the signal for them to split up—Shepard would go straight, and the two men would cover the left and right quadrants. Generally, the rule had always been to go thirty-five yards and no farther, but in this case, he knew the rule had changed to “don’t come back until Widow is dead.”
He moved to the right. The wind howled and echoed through the trees and fresh bullet holes. It gusted and blew across his face. He walked on for thirty yards. Then thirty-five. Then he felt a voice in the back of his head saying, Too far. Too far. He stopped and peered back over his shoulder. He could still see his partner’s back. So he about-faced and moved forward.
The gloom was getting thicker in the forest, so he reached up and pulled down his goggles, clicking on the night-vision. The device hummed, and his field of vision turned bright green. He could see much better and would notice if anything moved.
He continued on.
The gloom increased. It engulfed him. He turned to look over his shoulder, searching for his partners again. No sign of them. Their snow-colored gear had backfired on them in this environment because they were camouflaged too well and couldn’t see each other. And now they were limited in the directions they could fire. If he fired his weapon in a southern cone, he might hit his friend—or worse, Shepard. That would be bad for him. Very bad.
He turned forward again and pressed on.