"Where are they all coming from?" someone shouted through the earpiece in Shane's ear. He was baffled too. The analysts had said there would be minimal defenses, but they were being fired on from all directions.

"Deakins?" Shane cried, and the figure in front of him gave a brisk nod. Okay, at least Shane was following the right man. In front of them, several of the soldiers had taken cover and the muzzle flashes shone bright among the green-tinted images in his goggles.

They still had not reached the central clearing. Deakins dove to his left, and Shane followed. They crouched behind some barrels next to a small trailer. The sergeant fired over them, while Shane leaned out to get a better look.

Dozens of figures had emerged into the night from the buildings on the other side of the compound. Their guns flashed, and bullets ricocheted off the barrels. Some bullets ripped the siding off the trailer and it rained over them.

Shane opened fire. He saw a couple of figures in his line of fire fall to the ground, but had no idea if they were from his shots. He just kept firing. Nowicki was barking incomprehensible orders through his earpiece. Shane was too focused on firing to pay attention.

"This way." Shane heard a yell and felt someone tugging at his shoulder. Deakins. He motioned backwards. Shane understood. Instead of going through the center of the compound, they would circle around the perimeter.

Something exploded on the opposite side of the compound and screams cut through the air. Were they ours or theirs? Shane wondered. Theirs, hopefully.

They had slid back behind the trailer and Deakins started sprinting toward the east fence. Shane raced after him. Some figures came into view and Shane raised his rifle, but stopped. Ours, he realized.

"East side is secure," one of the men yelled as he passed them on his way to provide support to the soldiers in the middle of the compound.

They reached the path that ran the length of the eastern fence. Over the earpiece, Shane heard Deakins reporting their location. Of course, Shane realized. He had to tell the others so they didn't shoot them when they turned back to the center of the compound to reach the building holding Steve.

"Down!" Deakins yelled as he dropped to the ground. Several figures had turned their way at the south end of the compound. Shane dove and began firing. Under the onslaught from his and Deakins' machine guns, the figures stumbled backwards and fell, one-by-one. Over the earpiece, he heard Deakins laugh. "Hey, y'all, ol' Spooky here can shoot."

"Come on," Shane urged, getting back to his feet. They reached the midway point and turned back to the center. Something was burning in the middle of the compound. Acrid smoke obscured his vision and filled his lungs. He tried to ignore the burning in his throat as he and Deakins finally arrived at the door of the building they had been trying to reach.

Deakins plowed through the door like a football blocker, and dropped into a forward roll. Shane started forward, but jumped back as bullets ripped through the door jam, inches from his head. He ducked and tried to peek into the room. Deakins was firing at something on the far side.

Through night-vision, Shane saw what Deakins was shooting at. A cluster of men in the far corner. Each of their shots flashed bright. "Careful!" Shane yelled. "The target's in here." He prayed that if Steve really was in this building, he was staying low.

"Y'all just gonna ask them fer that brother-in-law? Or ya gonna help?"

Deakins had a point. Staying low, Shane moved into the building, which looked like it might have been a school. The walls had a bunch of shelves and there were a bunch of tables throughout. Shane crouched behind a shelf and opened fire. He thought one or two of the men fell.

Something flew through the air and he heard Deakins yell. Instinct send Shane diving for the door as the grenade exploded. The noise was deafening and the force propelled him back outside.

He landed, face down, and stayed there for a moment. Rising to his hands and knees, he shook his head. His head was swimming and he couldn't hear a thing.

Shane stumbled to his feet and turned. Where was he? Then he saw the door. It was still there, maybe a little wider from the blast. He still had his rifle in hand, so he staggered toward it.

The cobwebs began to clear. Deakins. Steve. Gun muzzles still flashed on the other side of the room. Funny that they weren't making any noise. Deakins was waving at him, maybe even yelling, but Shane couldn't hear anything. He tried to register what Deakins was doing with his hands. He was moving his hand from high to low.

Down. That meant down.

Yes, Shane thought. Down.

Down. As in "get down." The meaning suddenly hit him and he dropped to the floor. The wall right next to where he had been standing burst into a shower of wood shards. At the same moment, his hearing returned with the almost-overwhelming roar of shouting and gunfire.

Remembering how to shoot, Shane raised his rifle again and began firing.

To his right, Deakins was moving forward, slipping from shelf to shelf. Shane provided cover fire as the man moved. There were probably only a couple of men still alive in the other corner of the room, but they were behind something. An overturned table or desk, perhaps.

Deakins waved for Shane to move too. He spotted a fallen shelf, probably knocked down by the grenade. Racing forward, he dove low behind it as shots ripped over his head. Near the opposite side, Deakins pulled out a grenade.

"No!" Shane yelled. They didn't know where Steve was.

Deakins either didn't hear or ignored him. He tossed the grenade over the barrier. The room exploded once more, then fell silent. Shane could still hear shots and yells from outside, but, inside, they seemed safe for the moment. He ran forward, trying to see if he could spot any sign of life. Deakins reached the opposite side first.

"There's a door here," he yelled. He kicked it open and froze.

Shane reached the door and looked inside. It was a tiny room, probably a storage closet. Inside, was a man.

"That y'all's brother-in-law?" Deakins asked as they stared down at the figure huddled on the floor?

Shane stepped inside and took a good look. His blond hair was long and matted and a beard covered much of his face. The man looked up and Shane saw the eye-patch and the one good eye. It shone with confusion and fear. Shane stepped forward, but the man slid away, curling into a tight ball.

"Don't . . . don't . . ." he rasped. Even as weak as it was, the voice was unmistakable.

Steve. Filthy and unkempt. Weak and maybe injured. But it was Steve.

Shane held his arms away from his body, pointing the gun away from Steve, and moved closer. He crouched beside Steve and kept his voice soft and calm.

"It's me, Steve," he said. "It's Shane."

The good eye seemed to register something. Maybe recognition. But the man stayed curled in a protective ball.

Shane put his rifle on the ground, and held out his hands. "Come on, Steve. We've come to take you home."