SEALs regularly trained in shooting rooms set up for hostage rescues.

They'd have to burst through a door, window or sometimes even a wall, and in a matter of a second or two differentiate between the hostages and the terrorists and then kill the latter.

Jackson 's suggestion had been to get the remaining two teams across before Rapp tried to sneak a peek. This way if things went wrong they'd be in a much better position to execute the takedown.

No one wanted to return without the Andersons, so Jackson urged that they hold nothing back.

Rapp looked over his shoulder and saw Jackson reach his side of the creek and then gesture for the next man to follow. As he waited for Jackson to join him he was startled by a flash to his left. Rapp's whole body tensed as light spilled out from the other tent. Looking through the grass he saw a man holding back the flap of the tent and relieving himself.

Rapp didn't bother to train his gun on the man. He knew Wicker would have already done so. Looking over his shoulder he could barely make out one of Jackson 's men crouching down in the middle of the rushing water.

With no fear of being heard due to the falling rain, Rapp whispered into his lip mike, "Everyone relax. This guy can't see more than twenty feet."

When the guy finished his business and let the flap of the tent close there was a collective sigh of relief. The fording continued and before long all of the men were across and in position to move should Rapp be discovered.

Sitting atop the slight ridge just 200 feet from the village, Coleman had an unobstructed view. He'd watched intently as Rapp and then the others crossed the rushing stream. Both flanking elements were not visible as they worked their way through the jungle. Wicker had already scouted that terrain and reported that it was free of booby traps.

When each element was ready Coleman spoke to Rapp.

"Mitch, when you're ready, go sneak a quick peek and then get out of there. Lieutenant, have your conga line ready." The conga line Coleman was referring to was an entry technique the SEALs used. The men lined up as if dancing the conga and then entered the structure, every other man peeling off and responsible for clearing a given area within the room. It was a tried-and-true technique used by all hostage rescue teams.

Whispering into his mike, Rapp let Coleman know he was going in. Crawling through the grass he inched his way forward toward the tent. Now out in the relative open, protected only by darkness and rain, he moved quickly. Across a muddy path and then up a slight slope of shorter grass, he was careful to keep the barrel of his weapon clear.

Less than ten feet from the tent now, he began to hear voices. He continued toward the far side of the tent where the Andersons were most likely situated. He was now within the stakes.

Carefully, he crept up to the edge of the tent. A thin sliver of light spilled out from under the green canvas where it floated just above the wet ground. Rapp made no effort to look under the side at first. Instead, he repositioned himself so he was lying in the right direction and listened to the voices.

Over the din of the rain pelting his hat, the tent and the ground, he could barely make out the voices of men speaking Filipino. Rapp crawled toward the other end of the tent and the voices grew louder.

He also saw shadows cast from the interior down along the gap at the bottom. Satisfied that they'd guessed right, he scooted backward through the grass and mud to the other end.

Before looking under the side of the tent, Rapp stared momentarily at his suppressed MP-5 with its night vision scope and long thirty round magazine extending from the underside. If he had to shoot, the weapon might be difficult to bring up under the side of the tent. Rapp laid the weapon down on the ground in front of him and reached for his silenced 9mm Beretta. After quietly drawing it from his thigh holster, he held the weapon lightly in his left hand. Unlike the movies, there was no need to chamber a round, take the weapon off safety and cock it. Rapp operated with his weapons hot at all times.

He listened for another moment, but gleaned nothing further. If the hostages were inside they weren't making any noise. Cupping his hands over his lip mike he whispered, "I'm going to sneak a peek. Be ready to move."

Twisting onto his back he positioned himself so he could look under the side by pulling the bottom up slightly with his right hand, leaving his left hand free if he needed it. Laying his head almost on the ground he took a look. He was rewarded with nothing more than the sight of the rotten wood boards that served as a floor for the tent.

Cautiously he lifted the side of the tent. Only an inch at first, though he was confident that the wind and rain would conceal any noise that he made. Rewarded with an up-close look at a dirty foot, he paused, not knowing if it belonged to a Filipino or an American.

Raising the side another inch, and pulling it out slightly, he was saw part of a hairless calf encrusted in mud and bug bites and a separate foot that was so small it could have belonged only to a child.

Rapp's spirits instantly rose and he pulled back the bottom of the tent a little farther. As in the other tents, a single lantern hung from the ceiling. In the dim light he spied two of the children and the back of the mother, their red hair making them instantly recognizable. Rapp continued to scan for the father and the other child. Knowing exactly where everyone was would allow them to execute a clean takedown.

Rapp thought he could make out part of the father's leg on the far side of the tent. Pulling on the side a little more he lifted his head to try to get a better angle. Suddenly he was met with a pair of wide eyes, and that was when it happened.

FORTY.

Coleman watched everything from his perch. Even in the relatively warm air, he was chilled. He ignored the physical signs that he needed to find a dry, warm place. His body had been through worse. Even at his age, he knew he could tolerate quite a bit more.

Silently, he urged Rapp to hurry. It was important that they verify the position of the Andersons, but it was not imperative. He'd never gotten used to the anxiety that went along with these types of operations.

That was probably a good thing, but one would think that after all the operations he'd been part of, it would get a little easier.

Looking through the scope of his M4 carbine, he watched Rapp draw his pistol and then roll onto his side. Then he heard Rapp's voice warn everybody to be ready. Coleman kept the scope on Rapp. His finger was nowhere near the trigger. If things got hot, his eyes and commands were more important than his shooting skills. That was unless they were routed into a full retreat. In Coleman's mind that wasn't even a possibility. Not with surprise on their side and the skill of the shooters he'd deployed.

As someone who had often commanded men in battle, Coleman had a real feel for when things weren't going well, and conversely, when they were. So far all seemed to be going very well.

That sentiment instantly died when a scream came clamoring over his earpiece. Coleman instinctively winced at the sound of something so ominous and unwanted. Before he had a chance to find out what was going on, Rapp began shouting orders over the net.

Rapp SAW the look OF FEAR begin to form on the face of the young redheaded girl cradled in her mother's arms. In an effort to forestall the inevitable, Rapp smiled at the girl and mouthed the words, it's okay. It was about this time that he remembered his face was smeared with green, black and brown paint. He could smile at this young child all he wanted, but it wouldn't change the fact that he looked like a monster coming to get her and her family.