Apocalypse Crucible

by Mel Odom

  Stepping back, Danielle offered a better view of the rescue attempt by the medical team. She signaled Cezar with her left hand, letting the cameraman know to shift the focus to the struggling soldiers.

  “Under siege from the Syrian army,” Danielle continued, “these troops have faced hardship after hardship. Only last night an air strike rocked the city, destroying buildings and supply warehouses and killing hundreds of citizens. These brave warriors have stood ready to defend the town against a ground attack. Now that attack is here.”

  Artillery rockets lanced across the sky in the distance. Long tails of bright fire trailed them. Less than a moment later, the shells fell amid the city again.

  Danielle waited until the rolling thunder passed. She had learned through hard experience that the attacks often came in waves. Signaling Cezar, she drew his attention to her again.

  “Only moments ago, the Syrians apparently launched another major offensive.” Danielle pointed. “This is what remains of one of the barricades this city’s defenders have erected in the hopes of holding this place.”

  Cezar panned from her to focus on the burning barricade. Gray smoke snaked up into the black sky. A dim yellow haze burned above the piles of rubble. An artillery shell plowed into one of the buildings, toppling the upper story down on the lower in a cascade of tumbling stone and mortar that washed out into the street.

  “Prior to this attack,” Danielle said, “dead American soldiers were hurled into the city by the Syrian army.”

  Growing braver as he lost himself in the camera work, Cezar stepped out from cover and focused on the corpse that had nearly come down on top of them.

  “These men are not new casualties of tonight’s attack,” Danielle announced. “The dried blood on this man’s clothes is days old.” She signaled for the camera to return to her. “The only place the Syrian army could have gotten dead American soldiers is from the border action that took place three days ago. The U.S. Army Rangers pride themselves on never leaving a man behind, but during the evacuation of the Turkish-Syrian border, the 75th, commanded by Captain Cal Remington, was forced by the horrific circumstances to leave their dead behind. The Syrians are using our own dead as weapons against us.”

  Another artillery shell crashed into the street behind her and created a huge crater. Chunks of pavement ricocheted from the nearby buildings.

  “In past battles in this country,” Danielle went on after the din had abated a little, “armies would lay siege to fortresses and cities. They sometimes brought the bodies of their dead foes to toss over ramparts in an effort to spread disease within the ranks of their enemies.” She paused. “Tonight, there is no doubt that the Syrian army hopes to spread terror amidst the brave defenders of Sanliurfa using those same tactics.”

  A quick signal to Cezar alerted him again.

  Danielle pointed toward the burning barricade. “Somewhere out there in that rugged, mountainous terrain, the Syrian army is marching. In interviews, Captain Remington of the 75th Rangers out of Fort Benning, Georgia, has assured viewers that his team will stand firm and that the Syrians will not be able to take Sanliurfa. Tonight, his claim is being challenged.”

  A fresh salvo of artillery shells slammed into the nearby buildings. Two buildings fell, tumbling in a widening rush of broken brick and shattered glass. The structures ceased to exist, becoming instead pools of debris.

  Calling Cezar back to her, Danielle said, “This is Danielle Vinchenzo, reporting live from the front line in Sanliurfa, Turkey, for OneWorld NewsNet.” She signaled again.

  Cezar pushed the camera focus past her to the rescue operation once more; then the camera light dimmed.

  “You’re off the air,” Stolojan announced. “Good piece. I’m sure the producers will need more footage soon.”

  Gunfire opened up all around Danielle. She stared at the barricade area. “I’ll get it,” she said. OneWorld Communications had no problem getting pushy about their news, and that was fine with her.

  The harder they pushed, the more she was able to get out of her team.

  “I take it the Syrians are on their way here?”

  “Definitely,” Stolojan answered.

  “You’ve been monitoring the city?” Danielle asked.

  “Yes,” Stolojan assured her.

  “Have you managed to keep a visual lock on Sergeant Gander?” OneWorld NewsNet’s satellite resources rivaled those of most modern nations. Besides being able to broadcast live news all around the world, they also had some of the best tracking satellites in the business. The corporation’s infrastructure had also seemed to be one of the most intact after the wave of mysterious disappearances had taken away a third of the world’s population. She hadn’t heard of any disappearances taking place within OneWorld’s offices.

  “Yes. We lost the sergeant for a time, but quickly turned him up again. The sergeant has primarily been with his men.”

  Goose Gander had become a focal point for OneWorld’s stories. Since she’d first accepted the job, Danielle had been told to stay close to Goose. Valerica Hergheligiu, the woman who had informed Danielle that OneWorld Communications had bought out her contract with FOX News, had pointed out that Sergeant Gander was exactly the kind of American hero that OneWorld NewsNet wanted to stick close to. As a result, the sergeant was gaining recognition, though he didn’t appear to be aware of it.

  “Captain Remington, however, has been something more of a challenge,” Stolojan said.

  Danielle knew from her own experiences that Remington was all but impossible to keep up with. During the last two days she’d tried desperately to deal with the man. The captain willingly granted interviews, even seemed to court them, but none of the media people presently working in Sanliurfa were able to keep him in their sights when he chose to vanish.

  One of the CNN reporters based in Sanliurfa had voiced the rumor that Remington was searching for a rogue CIA team within the city. Or, he said, perhaps it was a double agent that had been within the PKK, the terrorist group known as the Kurdistan Workers’ Party. The story was too good to ignore, and it had been told and retold among the media, with the circumstances flipping back and forth, depending on who was telling the tale.

  The selling point for the media was that the CIA might somehow have been involved with the Syrian decision to attack Turkey. If that was the case, the current war story was going to get even bigger. Chaim Rosenzweig’s invention of the synthetic fertilizer had turned Israel into a veritable Eden overnight and made it into an even more dynamic economic force that had unsettled the balance of power in the Middle East. There was some suspicion on part of the Arab nations that the United States, under President Fitzhugh, had had a hand in the development of that fertilizer.

  Yesterday, that CNN reporter had been found dead, his throat slit. He’d been young, convinced he was on the trail of something that would earn him a Pulitzer, and he’d taken chances by going into the rougher areas of the city where the traders and black-market dealers met. Danielle had earmarked the story to follow up on, but OneWorld had kept her busy pumping human-interest stories, such as the cooks she had been with before the attack.

  “We do have Captain Remington now,” Stolojan said.

  “But where is Sergeant Gander?” Danielle asked.

  “Two blocks east of your position. One block south. At the main barricade blocking egress from the highway.”

  “I’m on my way. I’ll cue you when we go live. Until then, we’re going to shoot some bits that I’ll want to work into the story. We’ll upload as we go. Get them cleaned up and I’ll do voice-overs later.” Danielle’s mind worked furiously. She didn’t know how many people comprised whatever workforce Stolojan was part of, but he seemed to have an army at his beck and call for research as well as for processing.

  Staying close to the building, Danielle took the lead. Cezar and Gorca followed reluctantly.

  “I heard what you said about the bodies,” Cezar said. “Do you think this is why the Syria
ns did this? To frighten the soldiers?”

  “Are you scared?” Danielle countered.

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’d say it’s working.”

  “I suppose.”

  Danielle halted at the corner leading into a narrow alley filled with debris. A rumbling noise reached her ears, one of those impossible things that happened in the lull of gunfire and mortar fire. She knew what the sound was. Even though she didn’t want to, she turned toward the crashed barricade.

  Dust and haze and flames filled the gap where the barricade had been at the end of the street. The Red Cross Humvee loaded the wounded and performed a U-turn just as an armored behemoth lumbered into view.

  The tank was Russian-made. Danielle knew from her research that the Syrian army used primarily Soviet munitions. She didn’t know if it was a T-62 or a T-72, but it was huge. The tracks gouged the street, tearing away chunks of pavement. Then the turret swiveled as the tracks locked down. The main gun took deliberate aim.

  Danielle dodged around the alley corner. Realizing that Cezar was frozen, his camera resting on his shoulder as he shot footage of the tank, Danielle reached back and grabbed his shirt. “Move!” she yelled, yanking him into stumbling motion.

  Gorca followed, covering his head with his hands.

  The vehicle’s main gun belched flame that tore away the shadows between the buildings. The blast deafened Danielle. Riding out an adrenaline spike, she tried to run down the alley and drag Cezar behind her. Her feet became entangled with his, and she stumbled over a chunk of building. She fell.

  Behind her, the tank sped forward again.

  Renewed fear slammed through Danielle. The occupying military force hadn’t claimed their cobbled-together defenses were impenetrable. In fact, Remington had told the citizens that exactly the opposite was true.

  Another round blasted from the tank. A building staggered, then fell, joining the debris on the other side of the main street.

  Lying on the rubble amidst shadows too thin to offer much in the way of protection, Danielle felt certain that she was about to die. Then, ahead of her, she saw a man running toward her through the swirling fog of dust and haze.

  Disheveled and wearing a torn uniform, Sergeant Goose Gander ran across the ragged piles of debris that choked the alley. He held his assault rifle in both hands across his chest. When he reached her, Goose grabbed her by her Kevlar vest and yanked her to her feet. He pushed her toward the end of the alley.

  “Get out of here!” he ordered. Then he was gone, rushing headlong on an interception course with the invading Syrian tank.

  Cezar started for the other end of the alley. Danielle put a hand against his chest and stopped him.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  “Follow me,” Danielle told him, starting after Goose.

  “You heard the sergeant!” Cezar protested. “He told us to get out of here!”

  Danielle kept moving. “The story’s here, Cezar. If you don’t want this job, I’m sure OneWorld can find someone else to take your place.”

  Cezar hesitated only a moment then followed.

  Stopping at the corner, already several yards behind Goose, Danielle watched the Ranger out on the street. A gunner popped up from the turret and turned the 7.62mm light machine gun mounted there toward the first sergeant.

  A row of bullets chopped into the pavement toward Goose. He never broke stride.

  4

  United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post

  Sanliurfa, Turkey

  Local Time 0427 Hours

  When the Syrian soldier popped up from the T-62 tank loader’s turret hatch and manned the light machine gun, Goose knew he had no choice but to continue the attack. Ducking back into the alley where he’d passed Danielle Vinchenzo and her OneWorld NewsNet team would have been impossible. He’d have slipped and fallen on the debris underfoot and been easy prey for the Syrian gunner. That fact ricocheted through his mind in a heartbeat. Grimly determined, he lengthened his stride.

  “Goose, look out!” a Ranger shouted.

  Already in motion and with the headset securely in place under his helmet, Goose experienced a curious Doppler effect. He heard the warning through the headset, then again from his right because the soldier was so close. The Ranger sounded familiar. Under any other circumstances, Goose felt certain he would have recognized the man’s voice.

  The tank continued rolling forward, leaving a widely spread set of track marks in the cracked and cratered street. Thankfully, the turret gunner had trouble bringing the machine gun to bear on Goose.

  Lifting his M-4A1 assault rifle, Goose fired two three-round bursts and hoped for the best. One burst struck a flurry of sparks from the tank’s armored back less than a foot from the Syrian gunner. The second tri-burst hammered into the enemy gunner’s chest and popped him back over the turret.

  Less than twenty yards from the tank and closing quickly, Goose said, “Tango One, this is Phoenix Leader.” His breath came raggedly, tearing his words apart.

  “Go, Phoenix Leader, you have Tango One.”

  Tango One was Lieutenant Harold Wake, the commanding officer of Charlie Company of the 75th Rangers. Charlie Company held the ground currently challenged by the Syrian push. Goose, through the extension of Captain Remington’s authority, actually had command of the ranking officer. Working in the heat of battle with too few troops from too many forces made for strange chains of command.

  “If I don’t stop this tank, sir,” Goose told the officer, feeling the shuddering weakness clawing at his knee, “you stop it.”

  “Affirmative, Phoenix Leader. I’ve got a soldier with an MPIM en route. He’ll be here any second.”

  “Great. I gotta slow the tank at least, Tango One. Till your soldier gets here.” Goose didn’t want to take the chance the Syrian rolling stock would penetrate to within line of sight of the makeshift hospital.

  Wake’s response came back at once. “My guy will be here, Leader. You’ve got to get clear when he does.”

  “Even if I’m not … hospital’s not far.” Talking while winded came hard. “I’ve got a shot … and a plan. I’m taking it.”

  “Goose!” another soldier interrupted. “Gunners at the rear ob slit!”

  With the shadows that filled the street under the cover of night, Goose didn’t see the observation slit cut in the T-62’s lower quarters at first. Then the war machine sped by the flaming wreckage of a Volkswagen minivan that had been part of the barricade. The fire lit up the oiled snouts of the submachine pistols that one or more of the tank’s crew had shoved through the ob slit.

  Goose stayed the course, trusting that God was watching over him now. His good friend, Corporal Bill Townsend, had been a devout Christian and had steered Goose in that direction after years of Goose’s being lost in his faith and convictions. Bill had always believed that God watched over everyone, that no sparrow fell that God did not know about.

  Goose still hadn’t found the strength to believe as strongly as the younger man had, but he was getting there. Bill had vanished from Goose’s side at the same time the air-rescue effort from USS Wasp had turned into a nightmare of smashed metal and broken men scattered across a barren landscape.

  And his son Chris had been taken in the same wave of disappearing people. That was what a quiet voice had whispered into the back of his mind even as the battle screamed around him. With no warning, God had ripped away Goose’s son with no apparent care or consideration for Megan’s or Goose’s pain.

  Goose didn’t know how he was supposed to believe in light of all that. The sergeant settled for hoping and training to believe. Chris was in a better place; Goose had to believe that. It was the only way he could concentrate on saving the lives he was responsible for right now. He pushed away the whispering voice planting doubts in his mind. As a soldier, as a father, he had to believe.

  He reached for the tank just as rapid-fire detonation from the gunners inside the vehicle popped like
a string of firecrackers in his ears. At least one of the rounds struck Goose like a sledgehammer. Thankfully, the round spent itself against his Kevlar flak jacket. The blunt force trauma from the round was a different matter; the Kevlar spread the impact across a greater area, but the savage power of the blow still bruised the flesh beneath.

  Staggered by pain and the force of the shot, Goose stumbled. He pushed himself forward desperately, realizing too late that he was relying heavily on his weakened knee. He held the M-4A1 in his right hand, grabbed the tank’s rear deck with his left, and managed to jam his right boot onto the right track as it came up from the pavement.

  Straining, using everything inside himself as well as the leverage gained by leaning onto his right leg as the track swung his boot up and provided purchase, he held on to the tank’s skirting. He drove the boot down against the whirring treads. In a heartbeat, the lunge that had looked dismally short of his chosen objective became forward flight with the aid of the whirring track tread. Clinging to the assault rifle, unable to draw a breath because of the pain in his side and the explosive movement, he fell away from the tread at the apex of the climb and smashed against the tank’s turret.

  Dazed, Goose realized he lay on the tank’s rear deck. He sprawled on the surface for a moment as he regrouped. Reactive armor had been retrofitted to the T-62. If hit by another tank round, the added armor was designed to explode and counter the effects of the other explosives and deny penetration. Several sections hadn’t been exploded, and he knew if the armor detonated beneath him it would more than likely kill him.

  “Cease fire on the tank!” Lieutenant Wake’s words echoed over Goose’s headset. “Cease fire! Phoenix Leader is up there!”

  Taking a deep breath, trying to get oxygen back into his lungs, Goose stood uncertainly on the lumbering engine of destruction. He peered at the bombed-out street ahead of him, seeing several beautiful buildings that had fallen into ruin under the barrage of attacks during the last few days.