Nolan glanced around the hold. His men were making final preparations for the drop. Flying at forty thousand feet, they’d parachute to a landing seven thousand feet below, to the snow-covered peaks of the mountainous region. Each man was equipped with Arctic Camos, like they’d worn in the snowy wastes of Alaska. Thick, insulated winter parkas and pants to keep out the chill, and skis. The same as they’d used in Alaska, yet it would be different. If there were to be a final test of the skills they’d acquired in Alaska, it would be this operation. The terrain was similar, and the necessary equipment the same. Yet this time, it was for real. The enemy would be real, the old enemy. ISIS.

  Nolan strapped his Sig Sauer in the leg holster. His assault rifle, a compact Heckler and Koch MP7, was clipped to his front webbing, and he went to each of the men to carry out final checks. The main and reserve ‘chutes were in place, skis and poles strapped to their backs, and he buckled his helmet and tightened the straps for his oxygen mask. Just in time, the Jumpmaster strolled down the cavernous hold. He wore a helmet, and his oxygen mask hung over his chest.

  “Five minutes, we’ll be lowering the ramp in two.”

  Each man acknowledged, and they walked toward the rear as the ramp began to wind down, and the bitter cold wind howled into the hold. The Jumpmaster counted them down. “Ten, nine, eight…” On the word, “Go,” they stepped out into space and began the free-fall to the top of Mount Hermon. At low altitude, he yanked on the handle to open the canopy, and he thought about the operation. Put together at short notice, it didn’t make a man confident. Throw in a rogue nuclear bomb, ISIS, and a harsh dictator who ruled with an iron hard unit of tough troops. As well as Israel, sitting across the border, with their world class troops, and their arsenal of nuclear weapons.

  What have we got ourselves into? Some Christmas!

  They landed high on a slope. Minutes later the parachutes were buried, and they strapped on the skis. He winced as he put his weight on his right leg. The landing had reminded him of the damage, but he ignored the pain and began skiing downhill. It was still two hours before dawn, but the moonlight lit up the slope, and he kept a fast pace, arrowing between the obstacles. Snow-covered trees, unrecognizable snow-covered objects that could have been drifts, but were more likely piles of rock. Once, he made a last minute course change to avoid a three-meter wide chasm that suddenly appeared.

  They were high in the mountains, perhaps six thousand feet, when he called a halt on a flat ice shelf. A building had become visible, half hidden by the snow, but he’d seen movement. The headlamps of a vehicle, and a moment later a light came on inside the building. Bryce came alongside him and used his Starlight scope. “I see movement down there, soldiers, or maybe insurgents.”

  “ISIS?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Whoever they are, they’re well armed. AKs, at least one rocket launcher, and there’s a heavy machine gun mounted on that vehicle that just arrived.” He stopped and looked through the scope again, “What are they doing down there? It’s 04.30, too early to have more than one or two sentries at this time of the night. Has ISIS overrun this place?”

  Nolan took the scope from him. “There’s no sign of casualties, so my guess is they’re guarding something down there. What would you say, around ten men carrying weapons?”

  He grunted a reply. “Ten looks right.”

  “We can handle them. Vince, we may need some shooting.”

  “I’m ready.” He patted the stock of his Barrett Long Range Sniper Rifle. The weapon was a .50 caliber M107, mounting a Leupold 4.5–14×50 Mark 4 scope. If it came to picking off the enemy at a distance, Merano would make it look easy.

  John-Wesley had a faraway expression in his eyes. His words were soft, little more than a quiet murmur. “You will pursue your enemies, and they will fall by the sword before you.”

  They unslung their rifles, and Nolan exchanged a glance with Bryce. “Let’s go get the bastards.”

  He swung his skis over the edge and launched himself downhill. Hurtling toward the enemy, and if they were ISIS, they’d do their best to kill them. If not, well, they’d deal with that later. His skis hissed on the hard packed snow, and the landscape whistled past them. Nearer, nearer, they came within two hundred meters of the wooden building, and he swerved into a hockey stop in a shower of snow. Whoever was in that building wasn’t asleep, and a battery of searchlights had come on to fix them in the powerful beams. His men halted behind him. They unclipped their skis and dived to the snow, burrowing down to be as inconspicuous as possible.

  Nothing happened. It was incredible.

  They must have seen us to power up the lights, but they’ve made no attempt to open fire. Why?

  He turned to look for Bryce.

  “I’m going up there, see what they’re up to. Stay here and cover me.”

  “I can do that, Boss. You’re in command here.”

  “Cover me, Will. That’s an order.”

  “Copy that.”

  He snaked toward the wooden building. It was an Alpine style lodge, surrounded by a low fence. When he was within a hundred meters, a man stepped through the gate and started walking toward him. After a pause, he climbed to his feet and walked to meet him. The man wore a uniform, not Arctic camouflage but regular fatigues. The shoulder tabs marked him out as a Brigadier General. Not ISIS.

  They were face-to-face when the man spoke. “I am General Abbas al-Noury. What business do you have in my country?”

  He had a cover story ready. “Lieutenant Nolan, U.S. Navy. We’re Americans, on a training exercise in the Syrian mountains. What do you mean your country?"

  “You have entered the Sultanate of Hermon. This is not Syria.”

  He put on a friendly smile. “We must have taken a wrong turn. I apologize. We’ll get our bearings and leave. Do you mind if we take a breather here? A half hour, and we’ll be on our way.”

  The man gestured toward the fence. “You may wait inside the perimeter. The snow has been cleared.”

  “Appreciated.”

  He swung away and returned to the compound. Nolan gestured to his men and followed him inside the fence. There were a total of eight men, including the General, and a couple of vehicles, SUVs that looked worn and dilapidated. He strolled toward the wooden lodge, but the guards raised their rifles and made it clear he wasn’t allowed to go any further. Al-Noury’s glare was hostile.

  “You cannot go inside. My men are tasked with guarding this place with their lives.”

  “No sweat, we’ll stick around outside. What’s in the house?”

  He glared. “I cannot divulge what is inside. I must warn you, if anyone attempts to enter, my men will open fire.”

  He tried to reassure him with a smile. It was always better than opening fire. “Sure, we’re cool. “

  The General didn’t smile. “There is mint tea in an insulated container on the back of that truck. Help yourselves, and then leave the Sultanate. I doubt you will find what you’re looking for.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Al-Noury sneered. “You think I don’t know why you are here? You’re looking for the crashed warplane, like the ISIS scum from Syria.”

  He shrugged. “Okay, we are looking for the plane. You wouldn’t happen to know where it is?”

  “No, but it is not here.”

  He rejoined his men, and they helped themselves to the hot, sweet, mint-tasting tea. It was refreshing after enduring the biting cold of the jump, and then the Arctic embrace of the high slopes.

  “What do we do now, Boss?”

  “I dunno. Here comes the General. Let’s see what he has to say.”

  Al-Noury joined them. “Do not abuse my hospitality, Lieutenant. Finish your tea, and be on your way.”

  “We’ll do that. Sir, about this aircraft, my people are very interested in it. Do you have any ideas where it may be?”

  A slight hesitation, “People have looked before, without success.” Then he smiled, “Try the ridge up there, if you wish.” He waved in the direction of a distant plateau, “Then get out of my country.”

  “You believe the wreck is up there somewhere?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea, perhaps, perhaps not. If you wish to take a look, I will not object. When you are done, keep walking east, and you’ll come to Syria.”

  “Thank you, Sir. What about ISIS, where are their fighters right now?”

  He didn’t reply at first, instead, he gave each of them a long stare. Finally, he decided to answer. “I have no interest in this ISIS.”

  He went to turn away, but Nolan put a hand on his arm. “General, we can help each other.”

  His look was suspicious. “How?”

  “We need time to locate the plane wreck. If you’ll give us permission to stay in the Sultanate, we can help you. ISIS is your enemy and our enemy. If we kill a few of their men, it’ll mean less for you to fight when the time comes.”

  He stared at each of them. “I count four men, are there any more?”

  “No.”

  “What can four men do?”

  “More than you would ever believe.”

  “You’re not regular soldiers.”

  “No.”

  “Why would they send Special Forces operators to look for an old plane wreck? Why is it so important?”

  “That’s confidential, Sir.”

  “This is my country, Lieutenant. I will tell you what is confidential and what isn’t.”

  “And I have my orders, General. You want to know more, call up the Pentagon.”

  Al-Noury walked away and spoke to one of his men. Then he came back. “Very well, I have nothing to lose. Go to the ridge, and look for the aircraft. Don’t call for any help. You won’t get it.”

  “That’s the way we work, General.”

  A half hour later, warmed by the tea, they began the process of climbing to the ridge, ten kilometers of uphill skiing. This meant plodding through thick, soft snow, with the skis at right angles to their line of march. Ryder was the back marker, covering their six. When they stopped halfway, he caught up with them.

  “Someone’s back there, trailing us.”

  Nolan stared at him. “One of al-Noury’s men?”

  “Has to be. Whatever the General is up to at that lodge, he’s not happy we called in for a visit. My guess is he’s fixing up to ambush us somewhere along the way, and the gomer coming up behind us is there to report in our position.”

  Vince had already retraced their steps and found a low rise he could lie flat on and watch with his scope. Nolan waited for him to report.

  “Bravo One, this is Four, the guy’s about half a klick out. He’s hunkered down behind a snowdrift. He must have seen us stop, and he’s waiting for us to move again. I can see his breath condensing in the cold air. You want me to take him out when he shows himself?”

  “Negative, we don’t want to upset the locals, not just yet. Ryder, keep an eye on him. See what he does. It could be the General just sent someone to make sure we headed in the right direction. Vince, take the point. We may need some fast and accurate shooting if al-Noury double-crosses us, and they’re fixing to hit us.” He looked up at the sky. The pale light of dawn had appeared from the east. It was time to move on, locate the plane wreck, and secure the nuke. Before someone beat them to it, and decided a nuclear weapon was a personal gift from Allah.

  “You all know what to do. Let’s go.”

  He kept up a fast pace, even though his leg was shot through with flames of agony as they slogged forward. He’d worry about the leg when they got back, if they got back. The leg would heal, but he wondered about Will.

  Is it too late for him to heal his marriage? Maybe I can help, talk to his wife. Explain how hard it is to refuse an operation, and what was at stake. Will it help? Probably not. Will would have tried all that before. Even so, I could try.

  He couldn’t lie if she asked him how he handled his personal life. He’d have to tell he was thinking about moving to a new career. Except she may expect the same from Will, and that could be an expectation too far. He thought about his own life life after the SEALs.

  Would I go places, do things I’ve wanted to do all my life? Buy a charter boat and take out fishing parties in the South Pacific? Or a floatplane and fly around the vast Canadian wilderness, carrying sightseers or mail. Packages maybe, or parts for oil companies. Do they drill for oil in Canada? I don’t know. Maybe I can look it up when I get back.

  “Bravo One, heads up. I see movement, about a klick ahead.”

  He cleared his thoughts as Vince sounded the warning.

  “How many do you see?”

  “Count is ten, repeat, ten.”

  “Can you identify them? Are they al-Noury’s soldiers?”

  “Negative, they’re insurgents. Crazy bastards are wearing black clothes, ski masks, AKs, the works. ISIS, no question.”

  “ISIS up here? You’re sure?”

  “They’ve made a small camp, and there’re a number of objects I can’t make out under tarpaulins. They’re flying a flag, black, white circle in the center, Arabic writing. It’s them. Hold on, they’ve pulled off a tarpaulin. Snowmobiles, two Bombardiers, they’re fast and powerful.”

  “Okay, now we know it’s ISIS, and they have the ability to move fast. That motherfucker al-Noury set us up for an ambush. If it was still dark and the visibility was any worse, we’d have walked straight into them.”

  “There’s something else, Boss. They’re searching for the plane. There’s a guy using a metal detector.”

  “So they must believe it’s up here somewhere. Copy that. Hold your position.”

  He turned to Will. “We’ll hit them hard and fast. If that aircraft is up here, they could beat us to it if we let them live.”

  He nodded. “I concur.”

  Nolan hit the transmit key. “This is Bravo One. Vince, we’re going to attack. How many can you take out before we show ourselves?”

  The reply was immediate. “Three, maybe four. Unless they change their positions.”

  It was good arithmetic. That would leave six or seven, and their surprise attack should take care of most of them before they had the chance to recover.

  “Copy that. We’ll move to the flank in two minutes. Wait for my word, and then blast them.”

  Two klicks came in his earpiece to acknowledge. He called Ryder in to join him and Bryce, and the three SEALs finalized their plan of attack.

  “We don’t have too many options. I’ll take the north side. Will, you and John-Wesley the south. Halt when you’re fifty meters short of their camp, and I’ll do the same. We’ll keep our shots aimed to the east. If they run, they’ll either close on Vince, and he can take them down, or they’ll head toward the north or the south. In which case, we keep shooting until they’re all dead.”

  “And if they go east?” Will murmured.

  He grinned. “That’ll suit me just fine. Let them run and keep on running. It’ll give us a clear field to search for the plane. Move out.”

  They plowed through the snow. Every step was an effort. The going sloped uphill, and they had to use their skis sideways to keep moving, until they split up and moved at a right angle to the slope. Bryce and Ryder went one way, and Nolan the other. When he stopped, he was able to view the hostiles without problem, and he confirmed the count.

  Ten men, no question.

  He keyed the transmit button, “One in position.”

  “Bravo Two and Three ready.”

  “Bravo Four ready.”

  “Sniper, open fire.”

  Despite its sound suppressor, the vicious ‘thump’ of the Barrett was loud in the thin air of the high plateau. Five seconds later, four ISIS were dead, torn to bloody remnants by the heavy caliber rounds. He squeezed the trigger of his MP7 and squirted several shots at the enemy, who were diving for cover. There were still six men in the enemy camp, and they weren’t rookies. Bullets started zipping around them as ISIS took cover and returned fire. Vince was still firing, and Will and John-Wesley were blasting tight, accurate bursts into the ISIS ranks, but they were behind cover. So far, there were no casualties.

  He started crawling through the snow. They had to get near enough to target the hostiles, and he had no doubt his men would be able to finish them fast. Despite their resistance, the shock of the sudden attack should have left their confidence and morale in tatters.

  Why are they still fighting, instead of getting away as fast as they can run? Is there something I’ve missed?

  The shooting intensified, but it wasn’t coming from the beleaguered ISIS. He glanced to the east, in time to see a unit of ISIS racing at them, firing from the hip as they came. He counted twenty, and in that moment, he knew it had all gone bad. He squeezed the trigger and had the satisfaction of seeing the burst drill through an enemy, and hit the man behind. Two went down, but the rest dived for the snow. They didn’t stop, but kept coming, still firing, and the survivors in the camp had regained the initiative, sensing the tide had turned.

  It was time to pull back, to get out of Dodge. The bullets were whistling around him, and they had him pinpointed. He could see spurts of snow where he knew Vince was hunkered down, and Will’s position he shared with Ryder had become a storm of churned up snow.

  “This is Bravo One. Pull back. Pull back! Clear the plateau, and head back to al-Noury’s place.”

  They don’t want to help, but if we turn up with a bunch of ISIS savages close behind, they won’t have any choice.

  He snaked backward, but the enemy had other ideas. They were moving fast, and a moment later a machine gun opened up, then another. A hurricane of bullets whined overhead. It wasn’t an immediate danger, not as long as they kept their heads down. But ISIS had picked up the pace, with the automatic fire in support of their attack, and he did the math. They weren’t going to make it. No way, not in a million years. Even worse, they were split up. He watched an enemy fighter fall to one of Merano’s sniper rounds, but it made no difference, they kept coming.

  “This is One. Group around Vince’s position. When we’re together, we’ll make a fighting retreat. Shit!”

  The expletive was a response to a bullet as it slammed into his helmet. The shot came from a mound of snow about thirty meters away. Someone was up there and using the superior height to shoot down on them.