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of the corn, he moved quickly. When the crops ended, he laid in the mud, NVGs scanning the area. Easily forty yards away he saw two more men. They paced, guns in their arms, not over their shoulders. They walked along the ridge the truck had disappeared through, some sort of road or path that eventually led down to the main road.
    Derek spent another ten minutes watching their movements and scanning the terrain.
    Moving again into a crouch, he felt stiffer and slower. The cold was taking its toll. The rain had mostly turned to snow and the wind bit through his clothes.
    Watching the two men, he waited until they both faced away from him. He sprinted from the cover of the corn, ten yards to a wind-twisted tree. It didn’t provide much cover.
    The men didn’t act as if they had seen him. In a crouch, he waited.
    They walked along the ridge for a while before turning back.
    He sprinted another dozen yards to a tumble of boulders.
    Now he was a dozen yards from the men. They had the high ground. There was no cover from where he hid.
    They separated, which was not what he was hoping for.
    Derek continued to wait. One of the men walked toward where he was hiding. Heart hammering in his chest, he couldn’t believe his luck.
    The man walked right past where Derek hid. Derek leapt out and took him out, cutting his throat. The man struggled in his hands for a moment before going limp.
    Derek dragged him behind the rocks and took the AK47. Checking the magazine, he found it half-full.
    Turning back, he realized he had lost track of the other man. He quickly scanned the ridge, but he was nowhere to be seen. Shit. Where was he?
    Derek crept around the boulders. Suddenly behind him came a shout. Spinning, he saw the man, now only a dozen feet away, AK47 aimed at Derek. He gestured for Derek to put down the rifle.
    The man was close enough and his AK47 aimed at him, that Derek didn’t think he had much choice. He hoped the guy didn’t see his dead partner’s body behind the boulders. That would make for a very short conversation.
    Derek slowly dropped the rifle. It was dark and Derek definitely had the advantage with the NVGs. As he dropped the rifle, he tucked the knife into his sleeve, the handle in his hand. He slowly walked toward the man. The muj jerked the AK47 at him and shouted something in what Derek thought was Pashto. Derek’s Pashto was severely limited. He could say “One more beer, please” in about twenty languages, and Pashto wasn’t one of them.
    He said, “ As-salaamu’ alaykum, ” a basic greeting. The man responded, but Derek had no idea what he said. He took two steps closer. The man indicated with his gun for him to stand still.
    Having used most of his Pashto on the first attempt, he went with his second phrase. “ Za na poheegum .” I don’t understand . True enough.
    This seemed to anger the man, whose tone grew harsher. The gun bobbed more violently. Derek was now within three or four feet.
    Despite the man’s thick beard, Derek got a sense of youth. Late teens, early twenties. Even in the rain and snow and wind he smelled of curry and tobacco, body odor and fear.
    Derek was down to one more phrase. “ Tashnab cherta di? ”
    The man cocked his head, puzzled. As well he should have been, since Derek had just asked where the toilet was. But the puzzlement didn’t last long. Derek leapt toward the man, one hand catching the barrel of the AK47 and pushing it aside, the other bringing the knife down in a deadly arc. The blade caught the man between his neck and the collarbone. He screamed and squeezed the trigger. A chatter of gunfire split the night air. The muj jerked away from Derek, trying to bring the gun around.
    Derek hung onto the blade, pulling the man to him so he couldn’t use the gun on him. With his free hand the man pounded at Derek’s head. More gunfire spasmed out as Derek drove the knife further into the shoulder. With a final twist, Derek tore the blade upward, across the neck into