I’ll save the last bullet for myself.

A fine, romantic thought. But almost impossible to carry out, he suspected. In the heat of battle, who was going to count bullets?

He would gladly exchange the pistol or rifle, for that matter, for an airplane. On the ground he was nothing. Put him in the air and he could take on anyone.

“It’s clear,” said Gorud, touching his earphone as the radio transmission came in. “Drive in slowly. We don’t want too much dust.”

The hiding place was a man-made horseshoe canyon, with the two arms squeezed together at the southwest, away from the road. They went in slowly, but still kicked up so much sand that Turk couldn’t see when he got out of the car.

The supplies had been tucked into a crevice at the side of the right arm, where the site had been quarried and workers created or enlarged a small cave. Besides the fuel drums, there were emergency supplies including water and packaged food.

Green, the Delta top sergeant, opened up one of the food packages and passed out the contents. Turk ate with abandon. The Delta troopers took theirs and then fanned out into protective positions outside the perimeter. Grease stayed with Turk; Granderson and Green huddled near the barrels, whispering together. Gorud and the Israeli, meanwhile, sat together in the car, silent.

Ironically, the two Delta men who’d been wounded were the designated medics. Tiny was by far the worse. Semiconscious, he’d lost a great deal of blood from two bullet holes in his thigh, and a third at the top of his hip looked nearly as bad. The other man who’d been hurt was Dread; his shoulder was shot up and he had a graze wound to his cheek.

“Chick magnet,” he told Turk, pointing to the bandage. “Scar’ll get me laid for the rest of my life.”

Doc was less cheery about Tiny’s wounds. “Medevacking him out would be a good idea.”

“Yeah,” was all Turk could say. They both knew it was impossible.

Granderson had dropped off two of his men a few miles south to make sure they weren’t being followed. They checked in every few minutes, reporting that the road remained deserted. But they could see a good amount of activity at a town just two miles to the east, a patch of green in the chalky hills.

Set in the shadow of a Z-shaped hill, the town was crisscrossed by green fields divided into small rectangles flanking the shallow valley. There were maybe two hundred houses on the outskirts of the fields.

What looked like army barracks were located directly across from a group of large barns. They appeared to be empty, save for a single pickup truck baking in the middle of the courtyard.

“I’d like to take that truck,” said Granderson, relating to Turk what the men had seen. “If we did, maybe at some point we could get rid of this one. The hole in the windshield is a pretty obvious giveaway.”

“You think you can grab it in the middle of the day?” asked Turk.

“Why not? If it’s just sitting there.”

“Be a good idea to use their gas as well,” said Grease. “Give us more of a reserve.”

“True.”

Green had quietly listened to the discussion. Now he stepped forward. “If they have med supplies, that would be even better. If we can get some plasma for Tiny, it might make the difference. Might.”

“Unlikely they have plasma,” said Grease.

“Worth a try,” said Granderson.

“If we’re going there, then it makes sense to look,” said Green. “That’s all I’m saying.”

“What’s Gorud say?” asked Turk.

“I wanted to get it straight with you first,” said Granderson.

The captain was trying to get his votes together, as it were, before confronting Gorud and the Israeli with what he assumed they would think was a risky venture. Turk guessed the Israeli would be opposed, but he wasn’t sure what Gorud would do.

“Do you think you could pull it off?” Turk asked.

“Yeah,” said Granderson without hesitation. “We could.”

Turk looked at Green. The soldier nodded, then at Grease. His stone-faced expression gave nothing away.

“I’ll back you,” Turk said to Granderson. “Let’s talk to Gorud.”

They walked over to the CIA officer and the Israeli. Turk spoke first.

“The Delta boys think they can get a truck in town,” he said. “They can get medicine for Tiny, too.”

“Plasma,” said Granderson.

“There’s a set of army barracks that are deserted,” continued Turk. “It’s a little out of town, isolated—we could get in and out.”

“At the barracks?” asked Gorud.

“Place looks empty,” said Granderson. “Or I wouldn’t suggest it.”

“Risky.” Gorud looked at Turk. “Your mission is our primary concern. We’re not even sure where we’re going yet.”

“Understood.” Turk noted that Gorud’s attitude toward him had subtly changed. He wasn’t deferential, exactly, but he was at least treating him with more respect. “And I know it’s a gamble, but it might help us get there easier. And we might be able to save our guy.”

Gorud frowned. He took the paper map from his pocket and examined it, as if the answer were written in the topographic lines that waved across the landscape, or the symbols at the bottom of the page.

“If we can get in and out of the compound without trouble,” he said finally, “it would definitely be worth it.”

THEY SET UP A PERIMETER, MEN WATCHING THE BACK and sides of the compound as well as the road, and then they went with a plan both simple and audacious—they drove directly to the buildings. Granderson leapt from the truck, followed by Dome and Meyer; they ran and began clearing what they assumed was the barracks. Gorud and the Israeli took the second building.

Meanwhile, Grease and Turk went to the pickup. Grease pulled it open, intending to jimmy out the ignition wiring with his combat knife. But the key was in the ignition. He hopped in and started it up while Turk watched anxiously with the rifle.

“Full tank,” said Grease. “Your luck is holding.”

A burst of automatic weapons fire sent Grease scrambling from the cab as Turk ducked behind the rear tire. Two more long bursts followed. Turk felt a twinge of self-doubt—he’d argued that coming inside with the others was as safe or safer than staying outside. Now he wasn’t so sure.

Grease put his hand to the radio headset. “It’s just them,” he said. “They’re good. Come on. Get in.”

Turk jumped into the back of the truck bed as Grease got behind the wheel. He drove the pickup to the door of the building, backing around so they could load it easier. Meanwhile, the troop truck was driven across the way to the fuel pump at the end of the compound. One of the troopers hopped out and began filling it with fuel.

“We can get fresh uniforms,” said Gorud, appearing. “Help.”

Turk shouldered the AK-47 as he ran into the building, Grease close behind. The structure looked at least a hundred years old. The clay bricks leaned toward the interior and the ceiling hung low. Turk ducked through the door and entered a long hallway that ran along the front of the building. It had been modernized during the seventies or eighties; ceramic tile lined the floor, and the walls had faded to a dirty gray.

Meyer waved to Turk from the far end of the hall. Turk passed two empty barracks rooms on the left; a body lay on the floor of the second in a pool of blood. Two more lay at the intersection at the far end, just to the left of Meyer.

“Medical room at the back.” Meyer thumbed down the other hall. “They’re getting supplies. There’s a computer in that office,” he added, pointing to the first doorway down the side corridor. “We’ll take that, too. Grab any clothes you can find.”

Turk stepped over the bodies. One had a pistol in his hand; another gun, an older rifle with a wooden stock, lay on the floor. As he stepped into the office, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and spun right; he jerked around, ready to fire, only to discover it was a small oscillating fan, moving left and right.