Yeah--Numb3rs is still not mine. Wish it was.

I thought Chapter 7 was kind of slow, so I figured I'd upload Chapter 8 as soon as I woke up this morning.

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Chapter 8

"See, the problem was," started Smitty, "that…"

"The problem is," replied Colby, "that you keep interrupting me. Now where was I?"

"Ignore him." Said David. "What was the problem?"

"They like me better 'n you." Said Smitty, a silly grin on his face. He 'ahem'ed' dramatically. "The reason Doc was so upset was that, about thirty seconds after Hero and his minions left, the shooting started. We didn't know it at the time, but the shooting was actually the locals celebrating—shooting in the air, not shooting at the stupid Americans who'd come to use the phone. All we knew was that the guys left and the shooting started. Musta scared the S___ outta Hero, right?"

"Right. Scared the s___ out of all of us. We'd just gotten to the edge of the village, right where the road met the first houses, when all H___ broke loose. There must have been fifty rifles shooting."

The soldiers dove for cover in the ditch at the side of the road. "Jeeter! Where the f___ are they?" screamed Osterman, wildly searching for the army that was obviously bearing down on them. "Anyone hurt? Anyone hit?"

"I can't see a d___ed thing!" replied Jeeter. "There's no one out there!"

"Then what the H___ are they shooting at?"

The small group listened for a moment for the 'zszinnng' of bullets rebounding off of rock, looking carefully around for the tell-tale puffs of dirt which would tell them where the shots were coming from. No such sounds or sights were apparent. Abruptly, the shooting just…stopped. The men heard shouting and laughter. Granger looked at his companions and shrugged silently, then motioned for them to follow as he crept on his belly around the edge of the first house. At the corner, he froze. In front of the house was a large group of men—fifty at least—holding all manner of rifle and pistol aloft. They shouted and laughed, jostling each other to reach the front of the crowd. All wanted to be closest to the reason for their jubilation. In the road, tied to the back of a decrepit, ancient donkey led by a well-armed Afghani, was a man. The man had red hair and freckles, and wore a burned and torn American uniform and a grimace of pain. His shoulder patch identified him as being from the same National Guard unit as Rodriguez worked for. The Afghanis hadn't left that night on the mountain because they were cold. They left because they'd found what they'd been looking for. They had an American Prisoner.

Granger slowly backed away from the corner and crawled back to the ditch. Osterman and Jeeter followed, silent until they reached Granger. Then Osterman whispered "What is it?" Granger explained. Osterman and Jeeter took in the information. "And we're going to stage a heroic rescue, right?" asked Osterman, who already knew the answer.

"We can't just leave him. They'll cut his head off!" Started Granger in an indignant whisper.

Osterman waved a placating hand. "Relax, Hero. I'm not saying it's a bad idea. But just how do you think three people are going to do anything about it?"

"You're right. We'll need at least four. Let's go." And he led them back to where the others were waiting.

Granger explained the problem. "That's Staff Sergeant McQuaid." Stated Rodriguez, looking surprised. "He was one of the other gunners on our 'copter. How the H___ did he survive that crash? His compartment was crushed!"

"I don't know how he lived," responded Granger, "but I'm pretty sure how he got out of the wreck. McQuaid must have been what those Afghanis were after when they looted the 'copter that first night. I'm betting he's worth an awful lot to the Talibs, but I'm also betting he's worth more alive than dead. We can use that." The others nodded, thinking without mentioning it of grainy television coverage of previous Taliban and Al Qaeda prisoners. Granger went on to explain with the plan he'd formulated in the ten minutes since seeing the American. The others mostly nodded their heads, adding suggestions here and there. In an hour, the group was ready.

"I gotta tell you," interrupted Smitty, "the hardest part of that whole time for me was watching y'all leave out of there that night. I couldn't go with y'all, and I wanted to. I felt like…you know…useless or something. And I don't do useless too well."

Colby nodded. "I know the problem. I don't take well to sitting on the sidelines when stuff is happening either."

Charlie laughed wryly. "So now you understand how I feel when I send you out to, I don't know…rescue Amita or something…and I can't do anything? It's enough to make me crazy!"

"Oh, you think that's what's made you crazy, Chuck?" added Don. "'Cause I've known you for a LONG time, and I don't think that's it…" he was cut off by a pillow thrown with deadly accuracy at his head.

"OK Hero." Decided Smitty. "I approve of your friends. You fit right in with this group. But, back on the side of a mountain…" The FBI agents laughed.

Smitty was left to watch Captain Lerg, the machine gun and the team's meager supplies while all reasonably able-bodied team members made their slow way back to the village. It wasn't a good solution, but no good solutions were available just then. They needed every hand they had and then some. Lerg had stopped babbling, and lay silently on the ground. Smitty lay next to the .50 cal and watched the road. He gripped consciousness with everything he had.

The five men and women who could do so crept once more along the roadside ditch. They approached the village, then circled downhill toward the river. If this village had a clinic, it would be near the water. If the Afghanis wanted their prisoner alive, he was probably in need of a clinic. The group held onto the hope that the Afghanis wanted the American gunner alive when they turned him over to whoever bid highest for the man. Upon reaching the river, the group split in two. Osterman and Rodriguez waited by the near side of the first houses while Granger, Jeeter and Doc Smith crawled forward on their bellies. They all heard men's laughter in the village street behind the buildings, but no shouts which would indicate their discovery.

Near the center of the collection of houses along the river was a sprawling, one-story mud brick building. Electric lights shone behind screened windows, kept running by a diesel generator marked 'USAID: A gift from the American People." This, then, was the clinic, built by US contractors as part of the 'win hearts and minds (WHAM)" campaign begun early on in the war. At one time, this village must have been friendly to the US cause. Probably suffered for it, too, thought Granger.

He signaled Rodriguez to remain behind the generator as he and Jeeter crept cautiously forward. They slipped up to the building and Granger peeked one eye above the edge of the lighted window sill. The room was occupied, but not by a red-haired American. An Afghan woman, very pregnant, laughed with several young girls and a grey-haired midwife. Granger dropped back down and moved to the next window. The second room was dark and empty. They moved again until they reached the corner of the building, where it met a walled courtyard. Granger sized up the young man beside him, then decided that Jeeter was almost a foot taller than himself. He signaled the other man to peek over the wall. Jeeter did so, and quickly ducked back. He nodded, then held up one finger of his right hand. The four fingers of the other hand were extended and Jeeter stretched his arms out to half their lengths. The American was on one side of the courtyard, with four Afghanis on the other. The Afghanis were closer. They signaled to Rodriguez, who passed the signal to Osterman and Smith; one flash of a laser pointer, carefully aimed. The soldiers moved forward to where Rodriguez waited. The generator was loud enough to cover the soldier's voices as Jeeter explained what he had found.

Rodriguez once again waited by the generator as the team moved to where Jeeter and Granger had seen McQuaid. Unable to climb the wall with her wounded leg, she would watch for indications that they'd been discovered and if necessary cover the group's escape. They left Doc Smith at the wall behind the courtyard. Osterman quietly removed the screen from the empty room's window and slipped in. He made almost no sound. Jeeter and Granger, again crawling on their bellies, made agonizingly slow progress around the corner of the courtyard and toward the gate. In the first, occupied, room the pregnant woman yelled. Granger jumped, then smiled. A baby was a good omen. Besides, the woman's shouts during her labor pains would hide the noise they were about to make. It was an ugly thought, but true.

The courtyard's side gate was closed and guarded by a man with a surprisingly new-looking AK47. 'This one' thought Granger 'is definitely loaded.' The soldiers paused behind the trash piled against the courtyard wall, gathering themselves. Granger held up three fingers…two…one. Jeeter stood with a quickness that surprised Granger, putting his arm around the guard's neck and bringing his field knife to the man's throat and thrusting in and up. The man dropped like a stone.

Granger tried not to look at Jeeter's victim as he slung the guard's rifle across his own shoulders. The AK might prove useful to someone in the party. He cracked the door open a bit to peek into the courtyard. The situation was much as Jeeter had described it; McQuaid was lying against one wall, asleep or unconscious, his hands tied behind his back and a rope around his neck. Four Afghanis squatted facing him and talking, their backs against the wall behind which Doc Smith waited. All were armed. Granger held his breath, waiting for the signal from Osterman.

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Today's Jargon translator!

USAID: The US Agency for International Development, like Canada's CIDA, Japan's JICA or Britain's DFID, this agency's mission is to promote achievement of development goals, like implementation of sustainable agriculture or provision of basic health care, in developing countries. Sort of but not really part of the State Department (it's complicated).

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