"You heard my calls for help?"

"I ordered my men to fall back."

"Excuse me, sir?"

Fang's team was beginning to gather around them, along with Captain Yano and his men.

"You heard me, Sergeant Mitchell."

Yes, he had, and the news made Mitchell nauseous.

"We weren't brought here to cross-train with you. We were brought here to be sacrificed--and I won't allow that to happen. Not to my men. Not for you. Not for anyone."

Mitchell began to tremble in rage. "Captain, what have you done?"

"I made a decision. And I stand by it."

"Captain Yano lost four men. I lost nine. You're insane." Mitchell took a step closer, coming within inches of Fang, getting directly in the captain's face. Mitchell raised his voice. "How could you walk away from the fight?"

"Step back, Sergeant."

"Answer my question!"

"Step back!"

Mitchell took another step forward, thrusting his bare chest out into Fang's and shoving the officer backward. "I will not step back! You should have stepped up! You're a coward! You're a traitor! You abandoned us! You left us to die!"

One of Fang's men shouted something, and Mitchell craned his head to Captain Yano, who quickly translated: "He says the American is right. We are cowards. We wanted to fight. But you wouldn't let us."

Even as Yano finished the translation, Fang spun around, reaching into his pack and unsheathing a strange, sticklike sword with many edges.

He started toward his man with the weapon, but Mitchell grabbed Fang's wrist with one hand and latched onto the sword's handle with the other.

Suddenly, Fang tripped Mitchell to the ground, wrenched free his sword hand, and struck Mitchell on the side of the head with the blade.

The blow sent Mitchell's head jerking to one side, and he literally saw stars for a moment before he sat up, blinking hard, checking his head for blood. He should've been cut badly but wasn't.

Meanwhile, Fang turned back toward his man, raising the sword over his head.

Yano raced in to try to block Fang, but the rest of the Taiwanese team rushed to intercept, seizing him and beginning to drag him away.

That's when an all-out brawl erupted, guys shouting, fists coming down while above the choppers swooped in, pivoted, and made their final descents.

Mitchell rose, started toward Fang, screaming his name.

Fang spun back, lowering the sword to make his thrust toward Mitchell's chest.

Still dizzy from the blow to his head, Mitchell tried to grab the sword before it dug into his abdomen, but the metal slid through his sweaty fingers, and the sharpened tips penetrated his flesh. He gasped and groaned as Fang was ripped away by Yano, who had freed himself and now drove the man to the ground, straddling Fang.

Mitchell stood there, blood dripping from his chest, the wound resembling an odd pattern of lines. "Captain Fang," he shouted. "You're a coward!"

The chopper crews rushed forward, weapons drawn, just as a third chopper landed.

Between the roar of engines and the hollering men, Mitchell couldn't hear anything, save for a single voice in his head repeating three simple words: Oh my God.

One of the Filipino medics came over to Mitchell, lifted his voice above the din. "Let me see that wound, Sergeant."

"What?"

"Your wound."

"Oh, it doesn't feel that deep."

"Deep enough for a good scar, though."

Mitchell shrugged and pushed past the medic, watching as the COs from all three teams began shouting and breaking up the riot. It was a scene unlike anything Mitchell had ever witnessed in his military career. But then again, none of them had ever hiked through this little corner of hell.

Fang's CO, a stout, hard-faced major named Liang, began reprimanding him, then raised his voice even more and slapped Fang in the face--in front of all the men. Liang then seized Fang by the back of the neck and escorted him toward the chopper.

Fang's gaze met Mitchell's for just a second, and all Mitchell could do was shake his head in disgust.

After being flown back to the outskirts of Isabella City, where Camp Iron Horse was located, Mitchell, Rutang, and Billy were transferred to the field hospital, and by morning, all three were lying in beds, patched up and drugged up, scheduled to be shipped back to the States within forty-eight hours.

"I just don't believe what that guy did," said Rutang.

Mitchell sighed and rubbed his still-swollen head. "You've said that three times. Said it three different ways."

"You're not surprised?"

"There's more to it than we know."

"You got that right. It's just not like them. It's not in their culture to act like that. Am I wrong? You'd think just the opposite. While we were training, he seemed like he'd send those guys to their deaths and not think twice about it."

"He still cared about his men. Maybe too much. Who knows? He wasn't shy during the briefing. He's got politics--and they interfered with his ability to lead. It is strange."

"Strange? Damn, I'm in a state of shock."

"I just keep wondering what would've happened if he'd answered our call. Who'd still be alive? And who died because of him?"

"If I had my hands around his neck right now . . ."

"I think his CO will do the job for us."

"What was going through his mind?"

"We'll never know, so stop obsessing on it."

In truth, Mitchell couldn't take his own advice. At least not at the moment. He already knew he'd be playing out a thousand different scenarios in his nightmares, and night after night, revenge would be exacted brutally, efficiently, with extreme prejudice.

On a warm, sunny afternoon, the army held a ceremony for Scott Mitchell at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. The following was read aloud:

The President of the United States of America, Authorized by Act of Congress, July 9, 1918, has awarded the Silver Star to:

MASTER SERGEANT SCOTT MITCHELL, United States Army

For gallantry in action: Master Sergeant Scott Mitchell, Team Sergeant, Operational Detachment Alpha 574, is awarded the Silver Star for gallantry in action on 18 August 2002 in the vicinity of Basilan Island, Southern Philippines. On that date his detachment was ambushed by Abu Sayyaf rebels who killed ODA 574's commanding officer and executive officer at the onset of battle. Despite intense mortar, automatic weapons, and small arms fire, Master Sergeant Mitchell, with forceful leadership, reorganized his men, saving the surviving team members from being overrun. Inspired by his heroic conduct and absolute fearlessness, the detachment successfully held off a numerically superior force until rescued. Master Sergeant Mitchell was wounded during this attack. The gallantry and inspirational leadership displayed by Master Sergeant Mitchell reflect great credit upon him and the military service.

The digital cameras flashed as the medal was pinned on Mitchell's uniform. Behind him glowed a huge screen displaying the PowerPoint slides of the battlefield on Basilan Island.

Like Rutang, who also received the Silver Star, Mitchell told the crowd that he was just doing his job. He wasn't being falsely humble. He had done what he'd been trained to do.

Mitchell found out much later that sitting in the back of the room were two officers who had a lot to say about his potential as a Special Forces operator.

They were part of an elite, highly covert organization known as the Ghosts.

Chapter Six.

KAOHSIUNG CITY