The plan was to land seventy-five miles away from the Tal Bez Valley in a desolate, mostly uninhabited area. From experience, Mike knew in this terrain it would be a long, slow trip, taking most of the day. It was early afternoon, and the sun blazed down on top of unprotected arms hanging from truck windows. There was no wind, no relief from the heat. The truck’s roof kept the sun off their heads, but they were all hot and sweaty. It was hard not to doze the heat drained them of energy during the monotonous drive. An easy way to wake up Mike found, accidentally touching the outside of the truck. It might not have been hot enough to fry an egg on the truck’s hood but place your bare forearm on the dusty surface, and it would be a mistake you only made once.

The hard packed, rocky dirt road weaved and wound through the mountains and hills. If the rarely traveled road went in a straight line for more than a couple of minutes at a time, Mike would have celebrated, but it kept swerving left and right. At times they were lucky to exceed five miles an hour. But, it led them toward their target, the Tal Bez Valley.

Twice, somehow, a couple of boulders had fallen onto the narrow road. His first thought was ambush, but there was nowhere for the bad guys to hide but the rock fields. With Julia behind the wheel pulling with the winch and the men pushing, they could move them enough to drive around. If you were in Afghanistan long enough, you could always find something weird and unexplainable.

The route avoided rivers. Rivers meant water, and water meant crops and people. Water also meant the possibility of small enclaves not on the map, not ideal if they wanted to avoid people. These small groups of homes were located in random spots near the rivers and were hard to avoid. Those mud buildings no doubt had been there as long as the river flowed.

His past deployments were different in various ways the one constant was always the dirt, dust, and heat. None of it bothered him anymore. The running joke back at Fort Bragg to prepare for a deployment to Afghanistan was to open your car windows during summer, turn the heat on high, throw handfuls of dirt and sand into the vents, and drive everywhere you went at ten miles an hour or less.

What mattered to him was their final destination. Etched in his mind were pictures of Baabaa Hotak. He’d recognize him as soon as he put eyes on him. That’s all Mike would need, Hotak close enough to see either through a scope or close enough to touch. His second target would be the big man with the machine gun. He gripped the steering wheel tighter. The so-called enhanced interrogation techniques were never a thing for his Team, but maybe this one time. He twisted his hands on the wheel, loosening his grip only enough to still feel the friction burn on his palms.

They’d devised a plan for their group to ditch the trucks. Tom would take point. Their little patrol would move into the hills around the valley for a look around. Then, they would find a nice overwatch location. The next day, when the sun came up, they would find out what the Afghani’s were doing. After that, it would be his time.

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He glanced at Al. His friend stared straight ahead, watching the terrain. In the rearview mirror, Julia slept, a little smile on her face. A slight smile crept onto his face, and he allowed himself to let go of the tension in his shoulders. He knew he had to stop reliving the past and stay focused, but it was hard not to think about Hotak.

The view in front of them was a series of low mounds that led into hills on both sides of the road and mountains beyond. If you could see past the war and the tragedy, Julia was right, Afghanistan had a charm about it. To the right was another rock field. To the left, about twenty meters away, was a short, seven or eight foot drop that fell into a wadi. In some parts of the country, he’d seen dry river beds that became raging torrents from the spring rains. Here, this one, he doubted if water had touched the inside of the meandering wadi for years. It had been their companion for the last five minutes as it meandered in lazy turns through the wide area it occupied. In random places, the wadi split into separate canals and then split again. In the distance, the wadi stretched, twisting and turning out to the west into the dry, sun-scorched land. Up ahead, the wadi system turned northeast and connected to the hills they were approaching.

A drop of sweat rolled down his forehead into his eye. He lifted his arm and wiped the sweat away.

“Whoa!”

Mike opened his eyes in time to see a sharp rock jutting out of the ground. He yanked the wheel, and the truck jerked to the side, but the truck bounced and heaved off the rock. The rock had ripped through the tire. Mike hit the brakes and sighed.

Julia jumped up awake. “What happened?”

“No worries, we got a flat tire, that’s all.”

Al glanced over. “I’m surprised we’ve only had one so far with the way this road is.”

Mike shrugged. “New tires will only take you so far if you decide to rip out the sidewall.” He was annoyed with himself for losing focus, but it was what it was. “I’ll get the jack and get started. Al, you want to get the spare?”

“Not a problem.”

They all got out and stretched. It was good to get out and touch your toes, reach for the sky, and relieve a little of the fatigue of driving for hours. Mike left his hat inside the cab, exposing his scalp to the sun. It was wool. It itched and was hot as hell to wear.

”Truck One, Truck Two over.”

Mike reached back into the cab and grabbed the hand-mic. “Roger.” He stood, wiped the sweat off his face with the hat, and threw it back in the cab. He thought better, grabbed the rollup hat from the truck, and put it on his head. The sun was brutal, and his head would easily get burned in the time it took to change the tire.

“What’s up?”

“We got a flat tire.”

It was Tom’s voice on the other end. “Need any help?”

Mike looked around. Al was in the truck bed digging out one of the spare tires. “Roger, why don’t you come up and provide us with some security, over.”

“Will do on my way.”

“What can I do?” Julia said.

Mike threw the hand-mic through the open window and pulled the jack out from behind Julia’s seat. “I’m good.” Mike put the jack under the truck. “But it sounds like Al could use some help.” He winked at her. “I’d say that cursing is a sign.”

Julia turned to help Al.

Tom was halfway between the trucks, his rifle in his hand. Bruce stood next to their truck, looking backward. Mike didn’t see Ahmad. He assumed the interrupter was sleeping in the back seat as Julia had been. His eyes shot back to Tom.

Tom stopped, cold eyes fixed on their front. Mike was turning to look when he heard Tom yell.

“Get down!”

An RPG rocket raced harmlessly over their heads. A second RPG gunner fired his weapon. He was a better shot.