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“There was a chorus of chuckles from the men inside Russo’s Stryker.
    “Not on your life, Sergeant,” replied Billings with a smile. “When we get in there, you make sure your men watch and learn from us.”
    “Hooyah, Lieutenant.”
    Billings turned to the men inside his Stryker and said, “Gentlemen, Sergeant Russo seems to think we’re not needed today. He says Bravo team can handle the assignment themselves.”
    “Fuck Bravo team,” said a young private named Steve Schlesinger.
    Normally, Billings wouldn’t put up with language like that, but he liked his men to get pumped up before going into potentially dangerous situations. Besides, eighteen-year-old Schlesinger was their shining star. He had uncovered and helped defuse more improvised explosive devices in the last month than anyone in Iraq over the last year. The kid had a sixth sense for danger, and despite the fact that he was from Chicago and thought the Cubs were a better team than the Milwaukee Brewers, Billings liked him.
    “Okay then,” replied Billings. “We’re all agreed?”
    A chorus of “Fuck Bravo team” resounded throughout the lead Stryker. It was good-natured competition, and Billings knew his men well enough to know that when boots hit the ground, it didn’t matter what team they were on, the men were all brothers united against a common enemy. He had no doubt Russo was whipping his men up as well.
    As Billings felt their Stryker slowing down, he knew it was only a matter of moments before they would have to step outside and try to figure out what the hell was going on.

THREE
    When the Strykers finally came to a halt in the center of the village, the soldiers jumped out and took up defensive firing positions. Though no one said anything, they were all feeling the same thing having made a complete circuit of Asalaam. There wasn’t a single living soul in sight, and it had put everyone on edge.
    Justin Stokes, a young, skinny private from San Diego who had a bad habit of engaging his mouth before his brain, said, “Maybe it’s siesta time.”
    “At 10:30 in the morning?” replied six-foot-four Private Rodney Cooper from Tampa. “Stokes, my grandmother doesn’t even take a nap at 10:30 in the morning.”
    “Whatever it is,” said Stokes, “something about this place isn’t right.”
    “It’s fucked up is what it is,” added Schlesinger. “Where the hell are all the people?”
    “That’s what we’re here to find out,” replied Lieutenant Billings, cutting the crosstalk short. “We’re in the game now, so let’s keep communications on an as-needed basis.”
    “Yes sir, Lieutenant,” the men responded as Billings walked over to where Russo was standing. He was using the reflex sight on his M4 to look for any movement at the far end of the road.
    “What do you think, Jimmy?” asked Billings.
    “I think it’s too quiet,” said Russo as he lowered his weapon.
    “Maybe we’re looking at an ambush.”
    “I don’t think so. If somebody was going to hit us, it would have already happened.”
    “So what the hell’s going on, then? Where are all the villagers?”
    Russo double-checked his firing selector and said, “I don’t know, and I’ve got a feeling I don’t particularly want to know. This village isn’t our problem. We’re here to check up on three American aid workers, so let’s do that and get the hell out of here.”
    Billings studied the cracked, sun-baked facades of the mud brick houses up and down the narrow road, some with their doors and windows standing wide open, and agreed. “All right. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll take Alpha team to the building the missionaries were using as their health center. You and Bravo team do a house-to-house search, but no door kicking. If you find one that’s already open and no one responds to a polite knock, you and your men can go inside and look around, but tell them not to touch anything. We’ll meet back here in fifteen minutes. Got