left, caught his eye. He glanced over his shoulder out the window in time to see the Apache go up in a red fireball.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n!" he yelled, knowing the attackers were lying in wait for them below.

"Hit the ground!" he hollered, diving out the cargo door of the Chinook and rolling as he hit the dirt.

Off to the right, the Defender made a sharp turn and lowered its nose as it dove at the ground just ahead of them, its 20mm cannon firing at unseen troops on the ground.

Johnson got up on his knees in time to see a bright orange streak of light head directly at the Defender, followed seconds later by another fireball as it exploded into fist-sized pieces of molten metal.

"s.h.i.t!" he screamed as he and his men began to come under withering automatic-weapons fire.

He recognized the distinctive sound of the AK-47's that were being used against them-one of the most fearsome attack weapons ever made.

Half his men were cut down before they could exit the chopper, while the rest lay on their bellies and returned fire blindly at flashes of gunfire ahead of them.

Johnson threw his M-16 to his shoulder and pulled the trigger, just as a slug tore into his left shoulder, spinning him around to land facedown on hard-packed dirt.

There was no immediate pain, but he knew that would come later, after the shock wore off. He tried to get to his feet, but his left arm hung useless at his side, so he just rolled over onto his back and pulled his .45 from its holster.

He could see black-clad figures rushing toward them out of the darkness, and he tried to c.o.c.k the pistol, but his left hand wouldn't cooperate.

He finally managed to c.o.c.k the weapon by putting the b.u.t.t against his chest and using his right arm.

A man screaming something in Arabic appeared twenty yards ahead and ran toward him, firing his rifle.Johnson gritted his teeth in a savage grin and raised his 122.

Colt. "Take that you b.a.s.t.a.r.d," he growled, pulling the trigger as fast as he could.

The big pistol bucked and jumped in his hand, and the Arab shuddered under the impact and was thrown backward with his arms outflung in death.

From his left, Johnson heard the stutter of another AK-47, and felt as if he'd been kicked by a mule as seven slugs tore into his chest and abdomen.

As blood welled up between his lips, he lay his head back and said, "f.u.c.kin' intel."

And then all was quiet.

After a few moments, shadowy, black-clad figures emerged from their hiding places among the trees and shrubs nearby.

They walked slowly among the dead and dying Rangers, occasionally firing a single shot to put an end to suffering, looting and stripping each body of weapons and ammunition before moving on to the next one.

Jamal Ahmed Fadl, the leader of this particular Arab team, walked with his second in command over to stand in front of the Chinook helicopter.

He could see the pilot and copilot's bodies through the bullet-shattered Plexiglas, slumped over their controls, the rotors still moving slowly around as the big twin engines idled roughly.

Fadl inclined his head toward the chopper's cargo doorway. "Go and see if there is anything worth taking inside," he said in Arabic, "then torch it."

"Yes, sir," his man said, and moved quickly off to do as he'd been told.

Fadl turned to watch his men strip the bodies and nodded. "All in all, a good night's work," he muttered to the night air.

123 Seventeen Mike Post knocked on Ben Raines's door once and entered without waiting for a reply. Ben was in the corner pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Hey, Mike," he said, holding up the carafe, "want some?"

"Only if it's better than what they've got in the mess hall," Mike answered, sitting in the chair in front of Ben's desk and placing his briefcase on his lap.

"Guaranteed," Ben said, and poured another cup.

While Mike got his case opened and a sheaf of papers arranged on Ben's desk, Ben handed him his coffee and walked around to sit in his desk chair.

"So, what's the latest news from Intel?" Ben asked."I just got a call from General G.o.ddard."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Evidently his best Rangers went up against the terrorists last night and didn't fare too well."

"What happened?"

"Seems the general's intel is not so good. Half the time the invaders weren't where they were supposed to be, and the other half of the time they were lying in wait for the Rangers when they arrived."

"He sent them in by chopper, didn't he?" Ben asked, though he knew the answer. Men like General G.o.ddard were 124.

far too conservative to think outside the limits of their rather limited imaginations. They were much too p.r.o.ne to do things the way they'd always been done, and that was one reason Ben had such good luck in defeating such men in combat.

"Uh-huh," Mike said, nodding his head. "Big Chinooks with Apaches and Defenders to run interference."

Ben shook his head. "I can't believe he was that stupid. The men he was going after could hear those choppers coming a mile off. Even if the intel had the right area, there was no chance to get his men in secretly."

Ben slammed his hand down on his desk. "s.h.i.t!" he said. "Those men were doomed from the get-go with that kind of a plan of attack."

Ben hated to see good fighting men, no matter the side they were on, wasted by incompetent commanders. It went against his grain.

"What did G.o.ddard want, other than to tell us his problems?" Ben asked.

"He wants to talk to you personally," Mike said. "I think he's anxious to work out some kind of compromise on the chain-of-command issue so he can get some of our Scouts over there to help save his a.s.s."

Ben's lips compressed into a thin line, a sure sign he was angry. "Okay, get him on the phone," he ordered.

Mike glanced at Ben and took a deep breath. He wouldn't want to be in G.o.ddard's shoes when he talked to Ben, that was for sure.

Mike picked up the phone on Ben's desk and spoke briefly into it. After he hung it up, he said, "Sally's gonna ring through when the general's on the line."

A few minutes later, the phone on Ben's desk buzzed. Ben reached over and picked it up.

"General Raines," he said, his voice curt so as to let General G.o.ddard know who was in charge.

125125.

"h.e.l.lo, General Raines, this is General Maxwell G.o.ddard," the voice on the other end said.

Ben reached down and pressed a b.u.t.ton, activating the speakerphone. "I'm gonna put you on the speaker, General," Ben said, "so my Chief of Intel, Mike Post, can hear the conversation."

"Good," G.o.ddard said, "I'd like us both to have his input on the situation."

"Me too," Ben said. "Well, Max, it's your nickel. What can we do for you?"

"Has Mike filled you in on the situation here, Ben?" G.o.ddard asked.

"Yeah. How many men did you lose last night?" Ben asked.

After a short hesitation, G.o.ddard answered in a low voice, "Over a hundred, along with three commanders."

"And how many terrorists did your men manage to take out on their missions?"

Another hesitation. "Uh, about fifty, give or take a few."

"That's not a very good ratio, Max," Ben said wryly.

"I know," G.o.ddard said. "Our intel was badly mistaken on both the whereabouts and strength of the opposition. Due in part to the cooperation with the terrorists of some of our own citizens."

"You talking about the FFA guys?" Ben asked.

"Yes. The traitors have aligned themselves with these invaders in hopes of eventually taking over the reins of government from President Osterman."

"So I hear," Ben said. "Now, you've explained your problems, Max. What is it you want from us?"

"President Osterman said she'd discussed with you the possibility of your sending some of your Scouts over here to help us eradicate these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," G.o.ddard said, a tentative note in his voice.

"Yes, we discussed it," Ben said, "along with my requirements for the a.s.sistance."

126.

"You mean about the men not being under my command?" G.o.ddard asked.

"Yes."

"Ben, you know that'd be very difficult to set up," G.o.ddard said. "It would be extremely difficult to coordinate a good plan of attack without unified leadership of the troops."

"Just how coordinated was your plan of attack last night, General G.o.ddard?" Ben asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm and scorn.

"What do you mean?" G.o.ddard asked huffily."General, I'll be frank with you," Ben said, leaning forward so his face was closer to the speaker. "Your operation last night was a complete cl.u.s.ter-f.u.c.k!"

"What?"

"You heard me, Max. If you were under my command and had planned such a terrible operation, I would've had you court-martialed and probably shot at dawn."

"I don't have to listen to this s.h.i.t!" G.o.ddard said, his voice rising to a high pitch.

"No, you don't," Ben said quietly, "but you'd d.a.m.ned well better listen to someone, Max, or you're not only going to get a lot of good men killed, you're gonna lose your country."

"But how was I to know what was going to happen?" G.o.ddard asked, his voice no longer angry but more hushed. "These invaders are just a bunch of rag-heads who don't even know the country."

Ben leaned back and looked at Mike Post, wondering whether it was worth his time to try to explain the fundamental aspects of guerrilla warfare to this man.

"Using the helicopters was a big mistake, Max," Ben said in an even voice, trying to keep the accusation on a professional level.

"How would you have done it then?" G.o.ddard asked.

"I would have inserted my men into the region quietly, either by ground vehicle or by HALO drop, so the enemy wouldn't have known they were there."

127.

127.

"You'd send your men in by high-alt.i.tude, low-opening drop at night?"

G.o.ddard asked, his voice showing his disbelief.

"Of course," Ben said. "My Scouts are all trained in such maneuvers.

Aren't your Rangers?"

"Well, yes," G.o.ddard said. "But that kind of drop is so dangerous, you'd probably lose a high percentage of men in the drop itself."

"In our hands, casualty rates from the drop alone are less than five percent," Ben said. "But how many men did you lose by inserting your Rangers into a hot zone in choppers so loud the enemy could hear them coming half an hour before they got there?" Ben asked.

There was a long hesitation before G.o.ddard answered, "Your point is well taken, Ben."

"Now, regardless of all that," Ben said, "we are still willing to help you out if you want us to."

"How do you propose we work it?" G.o.ddard asked.

"How about this?" Ben asked. "I'll come over with my troops and work outof your headquarters and coordinate our operations with your troops through you. But my men will be under my exclusive command and will answer only to me."

"So, we'd share command of the Army?" G.o.ddard asked, his voice skeptical.

"Not at all," Ben said. "I would only be in charge of my Scouts, and I would keep you well informed of what my plans were. Whatever you decided to do with your men would be entirely up to you, as long as your plans didn't put my men at risk."

"That sounds acceptable," G.o.ddard said. "What would we need to do to set this up?"

"Simply send us a letter from President Osterman stating the terms of the agreement so we'll have something to show the U.N. that we're not invading or interfering with your government, and we can have our men on the way within twenty-four hours and on site within forty-eight."

128.

"You've got a deal, Ben."

"Good. Get the letter drafted and sent and I'll begin to get my men ready. And Max," Ben added.

"Yes?"