Apocalypse unleashed lb-4

by Mel Odom

  “Dude,” Gary said, “out here you don’t just want another story. You want Goose’s story. That guy’s like a magnet in this whole thing. If there’s trouble brewing somewhere, it’ll find a way to try and get a piece of him.”

  Danielle silently agreed. She climbed out of the jeep. “Grab your camera, Gary. We’re walking.”

  Frustration chafed at her. With everything she’d discovered since the Syrian attack, she believed she was at the eye of a vast conspiracy. One that seemed to involve her new boss, Nicolae Carpathia. Everything tracked back to him.

  But every time Danielle thought she’d unearthed a new lead to the puzzle, someone or something got in her way. Her producer had shut down most of her lines of inquiry, freezing her out from the vast information archives within OneWorld NewsNet. She couldn’t prove that, but she was certain it was true.

  Only a couple of weeks before, she’d chatted up one of the new people in research and had been starting to make some headway in her internal investigation of Carpathia. But someone had discovered that. The research assistant was released, and Danielle had been assigned to cover Goose’s convoy. If she hadn’t been thinking about the cover-up, the convoy story would have made sense. It was a good one.

  The downside was that she might very well get killed tonight.

  If OneWorld NewsNet wasn’t already out to kill her. She still wasn’t certain of that, and the possibility, when she wasn’t scrambling to stay alive, frightened her.

  She shouldered her bag and started walking.

  “Gimme a sec,” the driver said. “All that whirling around we did in the dust probably choked out the carburetor intake. It’ll clear.” He tried the ignition again. This time the engine caught, blatted unevenly, and finally managed to run steadily.

  Without a word, Danielle climbed back into the passenger seat. The driver engaged the transmission, and they got underway. Even over the roar of the engine, Danielle heard the sharp reports of automatic weapons fire from over the ridgeline.

  4

  U.S. Rangers Convoy

  One Klick North-Northeast of Harran

  Sanliurfa Province, Turkey

  Local Time 2121 Hours

  “Drifter Transport, this is Drifter Leader.” Goose calmly braced his feet against the Hummer’s floorboard and unlimbered his assault rifle. “Do you copy?”

  “Transport reads you,” Juan Martinez responded in a stressed voice. “We’re gettin’ all shot up, Sarge. Where are you?”

  “We got your six, Transport. Drive it like you stole it.”

  “Copy that. I see you now. Bust ’em up.”

  “All right,” Goose stated to his team calmly and confidently, like this was something they did every day, which was almost getting to be the truth. “We stay in single file, and we stay together as long as we can. Hold your fire until I give you the signal. So far they haven’t seen us and I want to keep it that way.”

  “Won’t stay that way for long.” Brenner had a death grip on the steering wheel.

  “Ease up,” Goose said. “You’re fighting the wheel.”

  Brenner pushed out his breath and loosened his hands a little. The ride became smoother. “You got it, Sarge.”

  “Just hold it steady till I tell you to break. Then check your left side and head that way as quickly as you can. We’ll figure out the rest of it as we go along.”

  Brenner nodded.

  “Now get us up there.”

  The bandit vehicles were running slower than the army Hummers because the cargo trucks’ top speed wasn’t as good as that of the smaller vehicles. Five bandit vehicles harried the convoy on the left side. Four were on the right. Getting all of them on the first passthrough was going to be impossible.

  “Twenty feet outside their vehicles,” Goose told Brenner. “Then hold it as long as you can. Or until I tell you to break formation.”

  “I will, Sarge.”

  The Hummer sped up beside a pickup truck that bounded across the hard-packed ground. The pickup’s shocks were obviously gone, and the front end was a deathtrap in the making. Three men stood in the bed and fired into the rearmost truck.

  “You ready, Crain?” Goose asked.

  “Yes, Sergeant.” Crain was manning the. 50-cal machine gun mounted on the Hummer’s rear deck.

  “You’ve got the gunners.”

  “I do,” Crain agreed grimly.

  Goose lifted the M-4A1 to his shoulder and took aim at the driver of the pickup. The man was barely a silhouette in the rear window when the gunners shifted. Goose waved Brenner forward, then held the rifle again. When the driver came into view through the side window, Goose said, “Now.” His finger tightened on the trigger.

  The driver must have sensed something coming up on his side of the pickup. He turned and stared at Goose. The man’s eyes widened, and Goose knew he was about to steer away from them. Before he could, Goose squeezed the trigger and rode out the rising recoil in four three-round bursts.

  Most of the bullets caught the man in the face. Others tore through the side of the pickup or the windshield. The vehicle swerved out of control.

  “Floor it!” Goose ordered as the pickup drifted over in front of them. At the same time, he was aware of the. 50-cal machine gun chattering to sudden life behind him. The three men in the pickup bed fell in rapid succession.

  The pickup kept coming.

  Brenner started to steer away. Goose grabbed the wheel and held the Hummer steady, then rammed his foot down on top of Brenner’s. The army vehicle surged forward again and locked up briefly with the pickup. Metal grated and shrilled; then the bandit vehicle gave way under the Hummer’s greater weight.

  Out of control, the pickup pulled back to the right, narrowly missed the last convoy truck, and slammed into the rear pursuit ban-dit vehicle on the right side. Both vehicles slid out of control and rolled, becoming a conflagration of shattered bodies. Pieces of metal flew in all directions as they came apart.

  Goose released the steering wheel. “Good job,” he said.

  Brenner just looked at him and said, “Yes, Sergeant.”

  Evidently the bandits had some kind of communications system. The other four vehicles ahead of Goose suddenly split away from the convoy. They ran two by two; someone had obviously trained them.

  “Up the middle,” Goose directed. “Get them firing at each other.”

  “They’re going to be firing at us too,” Brenner protested.

  “If you get through them fast enough, they’ll have less time to react. Work on not getting hit.” Goose emptied his rifle clip at a pair of the vehicles. Men inside ducked as others returned fire.

  Bullets chopped through the Hummer’s windows, and broken glass sailed. Goose swapped out the empty rifle cartridge for a full one. Gray steam poured back over them from the front of the Hummer. Thankfully the engine didn’t lose power.

  Brenner screamed in frustration as the Hummer zipped through the middle of the four bandit vehicles. Goose and his group drew fire immediately, but the move had caught their enemies off-stride. Panicked, the bandits opened fire, but they had a hard time catching up to the speeding Hummer. Instead, they caught themselves in a deadly cross fire.

  Driven away by their own fire, the bandits circled wide. They still fired their weapons but became more careful about where those stray rounds went.

  In the meantime, the rest of Goose’s team slipped up beside the bandits. The Rangers opened fire at once.

  More bullets slapped the Hummer’s body with rapid metallic thumps. Goose turned in his seat, ignored the gunner, and aimed at the driver of the jeep just behind them. He squeezed the trigger and watched the driver jerk back suddenly. From the slack way he sat in the seat, Goose knew the man was mortally wounded.

  Out of control, the jeep skidded and suddenly flipped sideways, gaining speed and coming right at the Hummer.

  “Hold on!” Goose yelled as he braced for impact. “Hold that wheel steady!”

  The jeep slammed into the Hu
mmer’s rear bumper, then fell away. Goose jerked with the impact and tried to keep his upper body loose so he wouldn’t get whiplash. His battered knee screamed in agony as he braced his leg against the floorboard.

  The machine gunner, Crain, hadn’t been able to get himself strapped in before the impact. He struggled to hold on to the machine gun, but it whipsawed around on the gimbals. Goose reached up and caught the man in one hand, closed it into a fist in the BDUs, and yanked Crain down and forward between the seats.

  Brenner fought the wheel.

  “Hold it steady,” Goose roared. “Don’t fight it. Ride it out. Get your foot off that brake.”

  Brenner nodded and held the wheel steady as he lifted his foot from the brake pedal. The Hummer gradually straightened out and came under his control.

  “Don’t stop,” Goose directed. “We’ve still got a convoy to protect.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.” Brenner put his foot on the accelerator and downshifted the transmission. They sped back toward the fleeing convoy.

  “Thanks, Sarge,” Crain said weakly. “Thought I was a goner for sure.”

  “My pleasure.” Goose helped the younger man back to his feet on the rear deck. Knives dug into Goose’s knee, and he knew the joint was going to be difficult to deal with over the next few days.

  He turned in the seat and surveyed the battleground. In addition to the bandit vehicle he’d caused to flip, another sat wreathed in flames and a third was overturned and upside-down. A lone survivor quickly scrambled from beneath the disabled vehicle, saw the Rangers bearing down on him, and dropped to his knees with his hands clasped atop his head.

  “Base, this is Drifter Leader,” Goose said.

  “Go, Drifter Leader,” Remington responded.

  “I count four hostile vehicles down.”

  “Affirmative, Leader. Four down. Five left in the field.”

  Goose spotted one being pursued by two of the Ranger Hummers. That left four on the other side of the convoy. “Are they still in pursuit?”

  “That’s a big roger, Sarge,” someone said. “Guys are climbing onto my truck. I can’t get ’em off.”

  The second truck in line broke formation and started weaving back and forth.

  “Hold on,” Goose said. “We’re on our way.” He pointed at the truck.

  Brenner gave a tight nod and accelerated again. He closed the distance to the truck.

  “Stay on this side,” Goose said. “I don’t want the bandits to know we’re coming.” He reached down and unfastened his seat belt. “Crain, you’re with me.”

  United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post

  Sanliurfa, Turkey

  Local Time 2123 Hours

  “Do you see what Goose is doing?” one of the techs yelled out.

  On the screen, Goose climbed from the Hummer onto the side of one of the cargo trucks. He fought his way up the side onto the top of the careening vehicle.

  Remington stared at the computer monitor and watched with cold anger. He hadn’t missed the fact that Goose was a favorite among the men. Everywhere Remington had served with Goose, even back when they were both noncoms before Remington had chosen to pursue a path through Officer Candidates School, Goose had had the same response from men. They genuinely liked him.

  That was a quality of leadership, Remington knew. But men didn’t have to like an officer to obey him. Fear was another good tool. The British navy under Lord Nelson had employed fear and brutality among the crew, and it had worked.

  “Man,” another tech said, “there’s nothing the sarge can’t do.”

  “He’s got God looking out over him,” someone else said. “Remember when the Syrians rolled those tanks into the streets? Sarge stood up to one of them and took it out single-handedly.”

  “Quiet!” Remington roared. “Do you think this is some kind of ice cream social? or a John Wayne movie? Those are my supplies. Dedicated to my outpost. I want my supplies to reach my outpost in one piece. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir,” several of the techs responded. The good mood didn’t exactly vanish, but it went underground. They focused on the screens.

  “We wouldn’t have to be rescuing my supplies if Sergeant Gander had followed orders,” Remington said. He tried to keep the anger from his voice but knew he’d failed. He pushed his breath out and got control of himself. Something was going to have to be done about Sergeant Samuel Adams Gander.

  Soon.

  5

  U.S. Rangers Convoy

  One Klick North-Northeast of Harran

  Sanliurfa Province, Turkey

  Local Time 2124 Hours

  “Are you getting this?” Danielle demanded as she stared at the trail of destruction that littered the countryside. She held on to the seat belt tightly.

  “I am; I am,” Gary replied. “But even the Steadicam programming in this unit isn’t going to keep the picture from jumping everywhere.”

  “Just keep shooting. Do you know where Goose is?” Danielle stared through the burning and overturned vehicles. Thank God none of them belonged to the Rangers.

  “Not yet.”

  “Find him.”

  “I’m trying.”

  Danielle turned to the driver. “Can’t this thing go any faster?”

  The man refused to look at her, but he did put his foot down harder on the accelerator. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

  “If you want to pull over, I’ll drive myself.”

  He shook his head. “Is any of this even real to you?”

  “All of it is real,” Danielle told him. When she got back to Sanliurfa, she was determined to find another driver. “This is the biggest story of my career. A third of the planet disappears. A lot of world leaders are talking-behind closed doors-that this is some kind of religious thing.”

  The driver swerved to miss a tree, and the cameraman yelped in surprise.

  “We’re in a nation that has the only city in the world that sits on two continents,” Danielle continued. “Which city, by the way, has been a point of contention between Christianity and Islamic beliefs since they laid the first stone of the first building there.” She paused. “It’s real to me.”

  “I found Goose,” Gary said.

  “Where?”

  “He’s on top of the second truck back.” Gary laughed like a madman. “You know, that guy is certifiable. I’ve filmed extreme sports athletes who wouldn’t do what I’ve seen him do since this started. I love that guy.”

  Danielle clung to the honest emotion in Gary’s voice. That was how Goose played before the young male audience. He was a man’s man, a warrior in the truest sense of the word. And for the women, he was the hero, the guy they all hoped to fall in love with. Those were the demographics she’d pushed at her producer at OneWorld NewsNet to get permission to stay with his story.

  But if he got killed…

  She pushed that thought out of her mind. She couldn’t imagine Goose getting killed. When the chips were down and everything was on the line, he was unstoppable. She’d never met a man like him before.

  The jeep whipped by a burning vehicle. A group of Rangers held bandits at gunpoint and were slapping restraints on them. The heat from the flames rolled over Danielle just for a moment, but her eyes remained on the lone figure atop the cargo truck.

  Local Time 2125 Hours

  Wind tore at Goose as he clung to the canvas covering the steel support ribs of the cargo truck’s payload area. The metal banged against his body, though the Kevlar vest blunted some of the trauma. He held on to the M-4A1 with his right hand as he went forward.

  Crain climbed behind Goose. The younger man didn’t keep his body snugged into the canvas and was taking a beating that slowed his progress. He hadn’t yet gotten on top of the truck.

  “Sarge! Sarge!” the truck driver called. “Are you there?”

  “I’m here, Jenson,” Goose said. “You just hold her steady for one minute longer.” He dug his elbows and knees into the canvas and straddle
d the supports. His knee burned with pain at every bump and lurch.

  “He’s almost at the door! I see him in the mirror!”

  “I’m there,” Goose said as he pulled himself to the side of the truck and thrust the assault rifle forward.

  The bandit clung to the truck’s side. The man’s feet rested on the edge of the payload area through the canvas tarp, and he held on to the tarp with one hand. Balancing himself, pistol in one hand, the bandit swung forward and tried to shove his weapon through the broken window.

  “Sarge!”

  Goose squeezed the trigger and felt the M-4A1 thud briefly against his shoulder. A three-round burst shattered the bandit’s head, and he fell from the truck’s side.

  One of the bandit vehicles racing beside the convoy on the right side immediately returned fire. Goose stayed low. The canvas didn’t offer much protection, but he was grateful for what he got. Bullets sizzled through the air over his head. A round struck one of the supports and sent a vibration singing through it. And at least one punched into his Kevlar vest.

  Goose plucked an M67 fragmentation grenade from his combat webbing, flicked the clip out with his thumb, and released the spoon and pin. Arching up for a moment, he threw the spherical grenade at the jeep as it roared to within thirty feet.

  The bandits fired at him immediately, but between the rough ride offered by the jeep and the bouncing of the cargo truck, they missed him. Goose pulled his helmet low and crossed an arm in front of his face.

  “Fire in the hole!” he roared.

  Crain hunkered down atop the cargo truck.

  A thunderclap exploded beside the cargo truck, and shrapnel from the grenade peppered the vehicle’s body. Goose pulled the M-4A1 to his shoulder and peered over the side. The jeep was a smoking ruin carrying dead men. It rammed into the cargo truck’s side, then got caught up under the wheels. The truck reared like a bucking bronco as it rolled over the bandit vehicle.

  The three remaining bandit vehicles hesitated, then veered away from the convoy’s side. Unable to see the Ranger Hummers on the other side of the trucks, or possibly mistaking them for their comrades, the drivers of the bandit vehicles closed in again and focused on the lead truck.