Primary Target. Джек Марс

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      “Go!” Luke shouted. “Go! Go! Go!”

      Two thick ropes descended from the bay door of the chopper. Men dropped down them, then disappeared into the swirling dust. They could be a thousand feet in the air, or ten feet above the playground.

      The wind howled. Biting sand and dirt sprayed in. Luke’s face was covered by a ventilator mask. He and Heath were the last ones out the door. Heath wore a similar mask—they looked like two survivors of a nuclear war.

      Heath looked at Luke. His mouth moved beneath his mask.

      “We’re gonna be legends, Stone!”

      Luke hit the green START button on his stopwatch. This had better be quick.

      He glanced below him. He couldn’t see a damn thing down there, or anywhere. It was all on faith. He went over the side and fell through bleak darkness. Two seconds later, maybe three, he touched down hard on the ground. The landing sent a shockwave up his legs.

      He released the rope and looked around, trying to get his bearings.

      Heath landed a second later.

      Men in masks appeared out of the gloom. Martinez, Hendricks. Hendricks gestured behind him.

      “There’s the wall!”

      Something large loomed back there. Okay, that was the wall to the compound. A couple of dim lights shone on top of it.

      Hendricks was saying something, but Luke couldn’t hear it.

      “What?”

      “They know!”

      They know? Who? Knew what?

      Above their heads, the sound of the chopper’s engines changed as it began to rise away. Suddenly, a bright light flashed from on top of the wall.

      Something zipped by, screaming as it did.

      Mortar.

      “Incoming!” Luke screamed. “Incoming!”

      All around him, vague shadows threw themselves to the ground.

      Two more flashes of light launched.

      Then another.

      Then another.

      How did they know?

      In the black darkness of the sky, something exploded. It blew up in muted orange and red. In the sandstorm, the explosion sounded like the crackling of distant thunder. The chopper. It was hit.

      From his vantage point on the ground, Luke watched it circle in the sky, an orange streak against the black. It looped toward the right, spinning now. Its engines screamed, and Luke thought he could hear the sound of its blades.

      Whump. Whump. Whump. Whump.

      It seemed to move in slow motion, sideways and down. It lit up the night like a tracer as it passed over the stone wall of the compound.

      BOOOM!

      It exploded on the other side of the wall, inside the compound. A fireball went up, two or three stories high. For an instant, Luke imagined it was all over. Chopper down, pilots dead. Support chopper inoperable. They were trapped here, and the Taliban seemed to have known they were coming.

      But that helicopter just blew apart inside the compound.

      Like a bomb.

      And that might give them the initiative.

      Several men in masks lay nearby.

      Martinez, Hendricks, Colley, Simmons. His team.

      Heath had to be around here somewhere.

      “Up!” Luke shouted. “Up! Let’s go!”

      He jumped to his feet, dragging the nearest person with him. In an instant, they were all up and running, a dozen men, moving fast. Night vision was useless. Lights were useless, and would draw fire. They simply ran in total, spinning darkness.

      In ten seconds, they reached the wall. Luke guessed left, and moved that way, hugging the stone. Within a few seconds, he came to the opening. There was the chopper, an apocalypse. A few silhouettes ran in the light from the flames, pulling wounded away from it.

      Luke didn’t hesitate. He ran through the opening, his MP5 out now. He gave them a burst from the gun, a blat of automatic fire. Now the silhouettes were running away, back toward another looming shadow, lights beckoning in the chaos.

      The house.

      His men were running with him.

      Up ahead, the silhouettes of the retreating men sprinted up the small flight of stairs to the stone house. Luke sprinted up the stairs behind them.

      Two men faced the doorway, pulling automatic weapons down from their shoulders. They wore the long beards and headwraps of the Taliban.

      POP! POP! POP! POP! POP!

      Luke fired without thinking about it. The two men fell.

      Suddenly, there was an explosion behind him. He glanced back—it was impossible to СКАЧАТЬ