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second dressing over the first one and tied it as best he could. The bleeding had slowed dramatically, but whether it was enough, he’d no idea. He looked up as Will Bryce crawled over to him.
    “How’s Jack doing?”
    “He’ll live,” Nolan muttered, “but this Pakistani guy is touch and go.”
    “Yeah, fucking Muslims, murdering their own people.”
    “I am not a Muslim!”
    They looked at the casualty. His eyes had flicked open, and his brown face, pale and gray with pain and blood loss, looked outraged.
    “You what?”
    “I am a Christian.” He managed a small smile. “My name is Danial Masih, and I can assure you I have never been inside a mosque in my life.”
    They were both surprised, at least for a few moments, and not altogether convinced. Will said casually, “Not many Christians in this place.”
    “You mean the town of Parachinar? No, I think you are right.” He closed his eyes in pain for a few seconds and then reopened them. He spoke again, painfully and slowly. “I was visiting my elderly uncle who lives there. I come from east of here, the city of Abbottabad. At least, I used to, although my son still lives there. I was an engineer there, and I,” he stopped again, working to martial his thoughts, “I…I worked for the city council.”
    The men exchanged glances. Abbottabad was a city whose name had gone into infamy, the place were Osama bin Laden had sheltered. Until Seal Team Six put an end to his notorious career. The man tried to speak again and failed. He lapsed into unconsciousness, but he was breathing, despite the massive blood loss. They could see his chest moving as his body fought desperately to stay alive.
    “What’ll we do with him?” Will asked.
    “Do? We’ll have to take him with us. If we leave him here, he’ll die.”
    Will was about to say something but stopped, and they ducked down as a hail of 5.56mm bullets parted the air overhead. It was Dan, he’d fired a long, well-aimed burst at the estimated position of the sniper, and Nolan saw chips of stone fly off the ruined hut. It was enough, the man moved, unsettled by the stream of bullets that must have ricocheted every which way around his primitive shelter. The sniper moved to find better cover, giving Vince Merano exactly the chance he was waiting for. Three bullets cracked out in quick succession, three precision 7.62mm rounds, and each one struck its target. They heard the scream from three hundred meters away, and suddenly the man appeared, black turban, long, black beard, and filthy robes, threaded through with pieces of bracken to camouflage himself. Vince was not a man to miss such a gift, and clearly the target was only wounded. He sent three more rounds that each struck the sniper, but this time at least one hit a vital organ. The man was flung back and disappeared behind the ruin.
    Scratch one Taliban sniper, Nolan thought.
    “I can hear the helos. They’re on their way in!” someone shouted.
    “Stay down! Stay under cover until we can confirm they’re ours and not the Pakis,” Nolan shouted.
    He craned his head to look up at the sky, to see a pair of Marine Black Hawks, Sikorsky UH-60s descending toward their position. They landed a short distance away, and the Seals began running toward them.
    Nolan and Whitman carefully carried Danial Masih across to one of the Black Hawks, lifted him gently through the door, and a medic took over. He seemed surprised that Nolan and Whitman were watching him, as if they cared.
    “What? What is it? Is this guy important to you?”
    “It’s be nice to see one survivor from the massacre back there, that’s all,” Nolan shrugged. “Will he live?”
    “He should be okay. We’ll have to re-open the wound when we get back, and he’ll need some transfusions to replace lost blood, but other than that, he should be over the worst of it pretty soon.”
    “Thanks, Doc,” Nolan nodded, and then he recalled Masih saying he was from Abbottabad. “Make sure he’s