8.
Mir Ali, North Waziristan—October 2009The ride in the Army Black Hawk chopper wasn’t long. The Marine team dismounted after maybe fifteen or twenty minutes at most, blowing geysers of warmth into their hands. It was damn cold up here—probably below freezing. They were now over six thousand feet above sea level. The Toyota and the driver, Baryal, were waiting as expected not far from the drop zone. But as McKenna slowly gathered himself, glancing around the desolate landscape and then up into the star-filled, dark, dark night, it hit him as hard as a solid hook to his liver: Man, despite the driver-guide, they were really on their own now. Alone. Whatever did or didn’t happen from here on out was going to be determined by the four bearded Marines disguised as locals. From now on they re
