before it all went to hell.

The two guys dogging us from behind attacked again,

and Nolan and Ramirez were on their bellies, cutting

loose with salvos that ricocheted off the back walls. I

dove forward, just behind Treehorn, who in turn spotted

two guys rounding a corner from the intersection.

Before they could open fire, he blasted them with his

first shot, just as Warris and Brown were coming up

behind them.

Warris clutched his leg, having caught some of the

buckshot, then looked to his right and saw something. I

lost him for a second in the shadows as his gun rattled

and then Brown appeared for a second in my light and

was as quickly lost.

But then his shout came loudly up the tunnel: “Gre­

nade!”

The Taliban were suicidal fools to drop a grenade

158 GH OS T RE CON

inside the tunnel, and as Brown dove back from where

he came, the blinding flash made me blink and drop my

head. I gasped as the explosion tore through the tunnel

ahead, my ears ringing loudly, the shattering rock and

streaming sand barely discernible as debris pelted us and

Ramirez and Hume kept firing to the rear.

I lifted my head, my face already covered in dust, the

beam of the penlight thick with more dust as the ground

reverberated a second time . . . and then Brown once

more hollered, “Cave-in! Get back! Cave-in!”

FIFTEEN

I’d read some accounts of Marines and other Special

Forces operators who’d dropped into Afghanistan just

after 9/11. They’d discussed how difficult it was to flush

the enemy out of the labyrinth of caves and tunnels that

lay along the border with Pakistan. One Special Forces

operator from the storied group known as “Triple

Nickel” had described the tunnels as “great intestines of

stone” that were, in fact, “part of the innards of some

ancient warrior who’d died millennia ago.”

That was damned poetic. I would describe them as

damp, dark holes that made perfect burial grounds, like

the catacombs of Europe. They smelled and foretold of

death and were the setting of many of my nightmares.

160 GH OS T RE CON

Ramirez ceased fire, reached out, grabbed some-

thing, threw it. I realized those fools behind us had

tossed in another grenade. I didn’t know where Ramirez

got his reflexes, but I wasn’t complaining.

“Get down!” I screamed, but my order was lost in the

second explosion, this one much louder, the debris strik-

ing more fiercely as up ahead, a flurry of gunfire also vied

for my attention. Smith, Brown, and Hume were advanc-

ing toward the intersecting tunnel where the explosion

had occurred, and they were engaging more troops.

The air grew thicker as the ceiling collapsed and heavy

rocks and earth poured in from above. Ramirez rose and

began running back as pieces of the ceiling the size of

truck tires came down and split apart across the floor.

The stench of the explosives and the choking dust had

me coughing, along with the others, and my eyes burned

as I turned forward and called, “Brown? Brown?”

I couldn’t hear myself screaming through the echo of

the explosion. I finally staggered to my feet, and, drag-

ging a gloved hand along the wall for balance, I moved

forward to find Brown, Hume, and Smith about four

meters down the intersecting tunnel to my right. A wall

of rocks and sand blocked the entire path, and the guys

were covering their faces and letting their penlights play

over the obstruction.

“Where the hell’s Warris?” I asked, swinging around.

Brown shook his head.

“What?” I cried, growing even more tense. “Is he

dead?”

CO MB AT O P S

161

“I don’t know. He was on the other side when the

grenade went off.”

I got on the radio, tried to call him, nothing. “Wait,”

called Smith, pressing his ear against the rock while

Ramirez and Nolan approached to cover us.

“I hear something,” Smith added. “Sounds like him!

He’s calling for help.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“All right, start digging,” I said.

“We’ll cover the back tunnel,” said Ramirez, waving

Nolan after him.

“Do it,” I said.

“Bad night,” said Brown, grabbing the first large

rock he could find and groaning as he lifted and threw it

aside. “Very bad night.”

“We’ll be here for hours,” said Smith. “And they’re

probably massing for us outside.”

“We’ll need backup,” Brown said.

“You guys are right,” I said. “Go back down there,

tell that private we need a digging team out here and

two rifle squads. Then get right back.”

As they were about to leave, Ramirez and Nolan

opened fire on the tunnel ahead, and I remembered only

then that all other exits had been blocked by the cave-

ins. There was only one way out.

Brown realized it as well and said, “Guess, we ain’t

going anywhere . . . yet!”

“All right, everybody, mask up!” I said. I didn’t like

162 GH OS T RE CON

it, especially within the confines of the tunnel, but the

Taliban guys were ready for us, so we had no choice. I

fished out a couple of CS gas canisters and let them fly

down the tunnel.

We waited as the gas hissed into a thick fog, and then

we rushed forward, enveloped in the smoke, Brown and

Smith covering our rear, Treehorn and Ramirez up front.

“How deep does this go?” I said aloud, though no one

could hear me. We ventured on at least another hundred

meters, then turned to our left and saw an opening and

the faint stars beyond.

Treehorn and Ramirez moved up front and signaled

to me that they’d check it out.

I gave them a thumbs-up and kept back with the oth-

ers. They reached the opening, a narrow leaf-shaped

break in the stone, and shifted warily forward. Both men

vanished for a second, then Ramirez ducked back inside

and waved us on.

We emerged on the mountainside facing Sangsar, and

all the booming from inside the mountain had not gone

unnoticed. Lights burned from the houses nearest the

wall, and two pickup trucks loaded with Taliban were

already bouncing across the desert, en route to us. I

ripped off my mask, as did the others, and then said,

“There’s got to be another entrance. Warris must be

looking for it, too.”

I whirled around, faced the ridgeline, got my bear-

ings, and waved the rest of the team up, toward a cluster

of outcroppings that looked promising.

CO MB AT O P S

163

We got there in a hurry—because several Taliban had

already reached the ridge just below us and had opened

fire. With dirt popping at our knees and making us gri-

mace, we reached a broad wall of stone and ducked

behind it. I waved my team on, one after another, and