THE DAY HAD GROWN hotter, and there was little relief in the shade of the steamy, humid forest that surrounded Beth Ledford and Kyle Swanson in the map and endurance exercise. Both were in camouflaged battle utilities, with light packs, and carried no weapons other than Kyle’s Ka-Bar knife. They paused on a thirty-degree hillside while Beth took another map reading and matched the heading with her compass. “We’re at grid coordinates six-two-one-two, four-two-one-two, Gunny. The third point.”
She sucked in a deep breath, exhausted. From the first step, this exercise of reaching a precise point by an exact time had been like climbing a wall. She reached for her canteen.
“No,” Swanson said. “This is a forest, Beth. There’s plenty of water around. We have to hydrate, but save the good stuff for emergencies. Just over to your right, see that rock ledge? There may be some water pooled there. It rained last night, remember? Watch everything. Listen to everything. Remember everything.”
Beth moved to the outcropping and found a bubbling little stream of fresh water dripping over the sharp edge of the rock, pushing by a pool about four inches deep that was gathered from the downhill movement of the water in the hill. Gravity at work. She lowered her mouth, but Swanson stopped her again. “Examine the source first. Is it murky or stagnant? Does it smell rancid? Is there a dead animal in it?” She looked it over and then gave it a tentative taste. The water was cold and delicious, and Beth drank her fill.
Before setting out from the Humvee, Swanson had given her a plastic laminated one-to-one-hundred map and marked the place they were standing, and she copied a half-dozen more grid points that he read from his own map, each with eight numerals. “In Pakistan, we will be using a GPS, but a computer in the field is always liable to break at the worst possible time. So today, I want you to use only the basics. You should be able to navigate to within ten meters of your objective.” He pointed uphill. “Go that way.”
Beth pointed her compass and shot an azimuth from magnetic north, then followed the map key to convert it, plus or minus, onto the chart. A little thin plastic protractor no larger than a postcard was used to draw straight lines between points, and she stretched a piece of string to mark the distance between the locations, pinching the exact point between her fingers. The length of string, placed on the measuring bar on the bottom of the map, gave her the distance. So far, she had been accurate.
“I’m not used to the physical labor part of the job,” she admitted, massaging her thighs in hopes of easing the burning muscles.
“I understand. I don’t expect you to be. But you have to put in your own time over the next few days doing PT, things like running, pull-ups, and sit-ups. Hell, just walk for distance. Any cardio exercises will help. The more it hurts today, the less it will hurt when we go into Taliban country. For now, just get up this hill to that next set of coordinates. And don’t make so damned much noise breaking through the brush. Up and at it, Ledford. Push.”
He had been given less than a week to get her through some rudimentary training. She could shoot but would need as much knowledge about working in the wild as he could cram into her during that short time. He had decided on using a basic escape and evasion exercise today to help her at least to recognize some of the possibilities, both good and bad.
As they climbed, he wondered if General Middleton was having any progress in his meetings with the politicians and diplomats. The State Department had promised to stop the surveillance, but refused to explain why the CT/DSS had been following Ledford in the first place. You don’t put a full-scale tight net over somebody without a good reason. For Middleton, the State plea that they were just following orders wasn’t good enough. Orders from whom, and why?
Then Commander Freedman had pulled a series of overhead satellite shots of the bridge area in Pakistan and pointed out that the heavy equipment clustered at the site was far out of proportion for simply building and improving a road. Nothing much was visible beyond a giant construction site, and the extensive flat surface of the bridge and its side apron. There was a village a mile away to the east, a bazaar to the west. Middleton was uncomfortable with the whole thing, and when the general was uncomfortable, he made sure everyone else was, too.
After Swanson completed Ledford’s workouts, they were to get over to London immediately, with next stop Islamabad. Kyle had the familiar feeling of some unseen hand increasing the tempo of events, speeding things up ever so slightly, pulling him forward.
Another quarter mile of struggling up the incline, and he gave Beth a three-minute break. She flopped down on her back, breathing hard. “I’m glad I joined the Coast Guard,” she said. “This marching and climbing sucks.”
“Well, when you finish with this little hill, you get a treat. Sybelle has arranged for a Coast Guard helicopter to pick us up. So we’ll go out over the water and I can watch you shoot from the bird, see you operate in familiar surroundings.”
“Really? Great. Do you know what kind?”
“She says it is your usual ride, an MH-68H, piloted by your buddy Lieutenant Commander Taylor, who got chopped from regular duty down in Jacksonville just to come up here and taxi you around.”
“Wow. You guys can do that sort of thing?”
“Yep. Here’s the catch. Taylor is to do a touch-and-go at the landing zone, just the kind of situation we may face in extracting from Pakistan. He will not wait. You have to have us at that landing zone, the map mark, at exactly fifteen hundred hours, or we miss our ride.”
“That’s less than forty-five minutes from now!” She was already on her feet, ignoring her aching legs and back. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Welcome to the world of special ops, Ledford. You’ll be told what you need to know, when you need to know it. Just follow the map and keep going. You can do this.”
“FIVE MINUTES, LEDFORD. THE LZ is straight ahead. You can see it from here. Go!” Swanson barked in a drill sergeant voice.
The toes of Beth Ledford’s boots were at the edge of a sharp gully that bisected the path, and stones crumbled down a thirty-foot drop. She hesitated, knowing she could never get all the way down there and climb up the other side in time for the pickup. “What do I do, Gunny?” Her question was urgent.
“You will never know exactly what is on the ground from reading a map,” Swanson said carefully, now in a quieter, instructive tone. “If you hit an impassable obstacle like this, don’t come to a complete halt. Do a ninety-degree offset, left or right, for about one hundred meters, counting your steps for distance, and bypass the problem. Then turn back to your original line and keep going. Now, go!”
She spun to the right and made her way along the edge of the gully. After counting one hundred and seventy-eight steps, she found a narrow point that was only about eight feet wide. Backing away, she got a running start and jumped the gap, yelping when her blistered feet hit the hard dirt on the far side, and she lost her balance and tumbled into the brush, face-first.
The thudding sound of an incoming helicopter did not allow time to catch her breath. She jumped up, but instead of going back the way she had come, she decided to cut off some distance by angling up the hill, as if drawing the hypotenuse of a triangle. In the sky, to the east, she could see the white and orange helicopter coming on fast and shedding altitude.
Swanson was on her heels and did not correct her, because she was already realizing her mistake. A thick tangle of thorny growth blocked her path, and it only got thicker as she fought through it. She looked up and saw Arvis Taylor smiling down at her. He shook his head, and Beth knew that she was not going to make it.
The helicopter landed with the engine at full throttle, but the bird never stopped. Had Beth been there, she could have just flopped through the open hatch. She wasn’t, though, and Taylor’s orders were to make it a touch-and-go, never coming to a full halt. Just as Ledford fought her way free of the clinging thorns, he finished the touchdown less than a hundred feet away and was lifting off, unwilling to wait an instant longer than ordered, even for one of his closest friends.
Beth Ledford’s shoulders sagged in disappointment, and she sat down hard on the dirt. Unscrewing the canteen, she drank some water while she listened to Swanson on his radio, reporting failure. The blades of the bird overhead were beating retreat.
“Ferrybird One. Ferrybird One. This is Swanson, over.”
“Swanson, this is Ferrybird. Send your traffic.”
“Roger. Looks like our girl missed the pickup. Divert to LZ Two.”
“Roger that. Ferrybird out.”
She bristled at hearing him call her a girl and was about to say something when Kyle was in her face. Drill sergeant time again. “You’ve blown the LZ, Ledford. Now the enemy knows where you are, so you just added three kilometers to the day and are in escape and recovery time. Get off your ass and read your map. You’ve got ten minutes to cover three klicks to the alternate LZ. This time don’t go wandering off course.”
Beth pushed herself erect, checked the map, blew out puffed cheeks in determination, and set out for the listed grid coordinates of the new LZ. The blades of the departing helicopter were still loud in the air.
Swanson did not let up but stayed right in her ear, yelling. “Move out, Petty Officer. It pays to be a winner, Ledford. Because you screwed up, now we may have to walk back. I wanted to eat some Greek food in Q-Town tonight, but if you mess up getting to the alternate LZ, I will be stuck on this damn little hill with you walking around lost in the dark.”
A bright flash drew their attention, and the smoky white trail of a surface-to-air missile lanced upward from the far treeline and drove straight for the low-flying helicopter. There was the shaking clap of a loud explosion as the missile struck the brightly colored helicopter, blowing off the tail rotor section. The front of the bird hung momentarily motionless in the air, then was engulfed in a massive fireball as another explosion ruptured the fuel tanks. It crashed to the ground, burning.
“Oh my God!” Ledford screamed and started to run toward the crash site.
Swanson saw a glitter of sunlight flashing on glass, thought scope, and tackled her in midstride just as a bullet banged overhead. He pushed through the tackle, driving them both forward and down to the ground. “Ambush, Ledford. For real!” Kyle slithered forward on his stomach, with Beth at his heels. A cluster of boulders provided some temporary protection.
“Let’s flank him,” Beth said. “Split up, circle around, and come in from the sides.” She was breathing hard, her mind still reeling from seeing the helicopter destroyed and then being shot at almost simultaneously. Her hands were raw from skidding through the gravel and dirt as she had broken her fall.
“Negative. This is no coincidence, Beth. You were supposed to be on that helicopter, and the shooter was backup in case you were not. We’re unarmed out here, and we don’t know how many guys are after us. My job is to get you out of danger.” He grabbed his radio and tuned it to an emergency frequency as the crack of another rifle shot was followed by a whining ricochet of a bullet off the edge of the rocks. It showered them with splinters.
“Quantico Tower. Quantico Tower. This is Gunnery Sergeant Kyle Swanson. Mayday. Mayday. Mayday.” Kyle had his radio at his lips and fumbled his map open with the other hand.
The calm voice of an air traffic controller responded immediately. “This is Marine Corps Air Facility Quantico Tower. I read you, Gunny. What is your emergency?”
“A Coast Guard helicopter was just shot down by a SAM missile on a training exercise,” he said, reading off the coordinates. “Now my partner and I are under fire in an ambush by at least one individual and are evading. Send anything you have in the air to buzz this site to keep their heads down.”
“Roger that, Gunny. Be advised we are diverting a fast-mover for a flyover, and it’s on the way. A Cobra should be right behind him. The Quick Reaction Force is being alerted.”
Kyle responded, “We’re moving at one hundred ninety-eight magnetic azimuth. Swanson out.” He stuffed the radio into a pocket and turned to Ledford. “We’re heading for that clump of trees about fifty meters down the slope. It will take between six and seven seconds to get there, with minimal cover. I will go first, at an angle to draw his fire, then you run like your life depends on it, Beth. Somebody wants you dead real bad.” With that, Swanson broke from cover and headed downhill, dodging sharply to his left. Ledford raced out a moment later, her arms windmilling for balance on the treacherous slope.
MAJOR CHARLES MARSHALL JONES saw the spiraling black smoke from the downed helicopter, then the bald spot of the landing zone. He had been only a few miles away, approaching the air station in his Lockheed Martin F-35B Lightning when the controller issued the emergency orders. Instead of setting up for a slow vertical landing, Jones peeled away and punched the Pratt & Whitney turbofan engine into afterburner. The stubby wings and the speedboat lines of the latest generation fighter jet had him climbing and turning at five hundred miles per hour in seconds.
He had no idea what was going on down there. Incredibly, someone was attacking American troops inside Quantico, one of the nation’s premier military installations. The tower only wanted him to buzz the LZ, which was good because he had no missiles on the hard points, nor anything in his cannon. As a Marine aviator, he had been trained to fly low and fast in support of the ground troops, and he coaxed the Lightning down to two hundred feet above the deck as he sped into the area.
Jones saw two figures running down the hillside on the same azimuth he had been given, scrambling away from the LZ. They had to be the people he was to cover, and he scooted lower as the terrain rose up higher. The Lightning passed with a sonic boom, and a concussive wave of displaced air churned the LZ into a noisy dust storm. The major hauled hard back the stick and bored a hole straight up into the sky, bent his plane into a 5-g turn, and came back in for another run from the opposite direction. Another sonic boom slammed the hillside.
That ought to let whoever is fucking around down there know that we’re watching, he thought, as he listened to the radio calls. Jones carved high to fly tight circles around the LZ in plain view of anyone below as a Cobra helicopter came hurtling in from the west for an even lower sweep. The QRF was no more than five minutes out. Soon, the place would be crawling with combat-ready Marines.
BETH LEDFORD AND KYLE Swanson hustled downhill on parallel courses through the pine trees, their boots crunching the carpet of brown fallen needles, twigs, and cones. Her lungs were on fire, and her legs were barely under control.
Swanson ran closer and called, “Twenty meters straight ahead. Into that ditch.” He watched as she jumped into the depression feet first; then he did the same and immediately rolled back over to see if anyone was chasing them. At least, they were no longer alone. The F-35’s two passes, plus the Cobra that was now nibbling around the LZ, had been more than enough to warn off the attackers, but he would not take that chance. Whoever had been smart enough to penetrate deep into a Marine base might still be lurking around up there, or worse, still following them.
There was a roaring growl behind him, and a Humvee came bursting up a nearby dirt road. Kyle ducked down again. Good guys or bad? Probably good, but maybe not. The powerful vehicle continued charging toward the LZ.
He clicked his radio and raised the tower again, which acknowledged the call and transferred it to the commander of the Quick Reaction Force. The QRF was only a minute out, and Kyle could hear the rotors of their helicopter. Beth Ledford raised her head, and he shoved her back. “Stay put,” he ordered.
After receiving the new coordinates, the helo changed course and slowed until it was directly overhead. Then it came to a hover and Marines were coming out of the bird, sliding down thick ropes, landing on the narrow road. Weapons ready, they automatically formed a perimeter, and a sergeant major was barking orders. A captain in full battle gear walked over to the ditch in which Kyle and Beth had taken shelter, his pistol drawn.
“You Gunny Swanson?”
“Yes, sir,” he replied, panting and out of breath. “This is Petty Officer Ledford.”
“Sir,” she said. Beth struggled upright. Her face and hands were bleeding from scratches from the dash through the pine forest.
“What the hell is going on?” asked the captain.
“Don’t know, sir. It’s a complicated national security matter that I’ll explain later, but we need to get Petty Officer Ledford to a secure location ASAP. Alert your people that this is no drill. A helicopter has been blown out of the sky by a SAM, there is a terrorist shooter running loose around here, and she’s the target.”
“OK. Both of you stay in that ditch until we get a medevac chopper in here and a gunship to fly cover.” The captain sent ten men up to comb the LZ and pulled the rest of his force into a tight circle around Swanson and Ledford. He looked over at Swanson. “Terrorists? At Quantico? They’ll never make it off the base alive.”
Kyle said, “They made it in okay. They have some plan for egress, and a Humvee just went tearing past us, heading up the road. My guess is it was their ride. Your QRF is dealing with professionals.”