15
“What side of the border are we on?” Remy asked, stopping to wipe the sweat from his brow. He would have thought they’d have reached a fence or resistance line, but they were in the middle of nowhere. He didn’t know how heavily the border was guarded.
“Still in Iraq,” French muttered, forging ahead.
Still in hell and feeling more that way every minute as they hiked through the scorching hills. The mountainous terrain jutted up like soldiers, each one standing in Remy’s way.
Abandoning their jeep over an hour ago, Remy armed himself with weapons. Guns and knives were at the ready. Night vision goggles and provisions were in his pack.
As they navigated the natural path that curved between the rock formations, Remy pressed his lips together to keep from swearing. He and French had vol
