by Mel Odom
Goose looked back to where he’d left Danielle and the cameraman. Danielle was nowhere to be seen. “Where’d she go?” Goose demanded.
“Said she’d be back,” the cameraman responded with a shrug.
“You let her go?”
“Hey, one thing I know about her since I’ve been working with her: once she gets it in her head to do something, you can’t stop her.”
Goose forced himself to turn his attention back to the wounded man. Maybe problems didn’t come one at a time, but that was how he had to deal with them.
At the moment, Robert Johnson was his problem. The man’s stomach was a mess. An ugly tear showed where a bullet had ripped across his abdomen and came close to spilling his intestines outside his body. Thankfully the bullet hadn’t nicked an artery. There was a lot of blood, but it was already starting to slow. He was still going to need blood or plasma to keep his heart beating.
Johnson shivered and watched Goose with frightened eyes. “How bad is it, Sarge?”
“Plenty bad,” he admitted, “but I’ve seen men with worse pull through just fine. You ain’t gonna look as good in a Speedo, though.”
“Man,” Johnson said, “I ain’t never wore no Speedo.”
“Well, then you won’t miss anything.” Goose looked around the room and found a threadbare blanket.
“Don’t see how that bullet got through my vest,” Johnson said.
“It didn’t.” Goose tore the blanket into strips. “You got kissed by a ricochet that slipped up under the vest.”
“Lucky me.”
“You’d have been a lot luckier if it had missed you altogether.” Working quickly, Goose slipped the strips under the young man and bound them across his abdomen. “One thing you can’t do is sit up.”
“I can’t. I already tried. I thought I’d been paralyzed. But I can still feel my feet.”
“Your stomach muscles have been cut,” Goose said. “Docs can fix ’em good as new, but you don’t have them right now. So you just lay back and let us get you out of here.”
“Yes, First Sergeant.”
Goose nodded and picked up his weapon. He adjusted his helmet and stood. Carrying Johnson back to the airfield wasn’t an option.
And he still didn’t know where Danielle Vinchenzo had gone.
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 0042 Hours
The Battle for Harran scrolled across the OneWorld NewsNet television channel.
Horrified, Megan stood in silence and watched Goose working on the wounded young man in front of him. The cameraman still had the video rolling, and the video link came through clearly.
“As you can see,” anchorman Vincent Terrell stated calmly, “things in Harran are not good for the Rangers out of Fort Benning, Georgia. You’re watching First Sergeant Samuel Adams Gander performing some kind of emergency procedure on a wounded soldier.”
The television monitor split into two equal screens. The other screen showed a downward view of the battlefield as Syrian tanks and vehicles drove into the town. Megan couldn’t believe the amount of devastation that filled their backtrail.
“At the same time that Goose, as most of this station’s viewers have come to know the sergeant by, struggles to save his fellow soldier, the Syrian army has arrived and is plowing through the town of Harran,” Terrell went on. “We’re being told that the Rangers hope to reach the makeshift air base outside the town in time to evacuate before the Syrians shoot them down.”
The view on the left screen tightened up and displayed the small, postage stamp-size airfield where a few cargo helicopters sat idling. Two of them lay spread across the terrain like a child’s broken toys. The Syrian jets had proven disastrous before the Rangers managed to retaliate.
A wave of jeeps braked to a halt and off-loaded wounded in gurneys. As soon as the helicopters filled up with wounded, they took off.
Watching them go, counting down the number of vehicles available, Megan knew she was watching Goose’s chances of escape and survival grow slimmer and slimmer. She took comfort in Evelyn’s strong embrace.
“Mom?”
Recognizing Joey’s voice, Megan turned toward the door. Joey stood there looking as frightened as she felt. Evelyn released her hold. Megan didn’t ask Joey why he was out so late, didn’t ask where he’d been; she just stepped toward her son with open arms.
“Is Goose…?” Joey couldn’t finish.
Megan held her son close. “No, honey. Goose is fine. He’s just fine. Look there.” She pointed at the screen, where Goose was working on the young Ranger.
“Isn’t he supposed to be getting out of there?” Joey asked.
“He will. He will. Goose just can’t leave anyone behind.”
“We have temporarily lost video contact with Danielle Vinchenzo, our reporter there on the ground in the beleaguered town of Harran,” Terrell continued, “but we’ll bring you more news of Harran as it develops. Right now we’re going to take you live to the United Nations building in New York, where Nicolae Carpathia, the newly elected secretarygeneral, wants to say a few words.”
“No,” Megan said.
Mercifully, the screens remained split, and the one depicting Goose stayed in place.
Carpathia looked unimpressively ordinary yet somehow natural on camera. He was thirty-three years old and broad-chested. His hair was neatly in place, as was his hesitant smile, and his dark suit looked fresh despite the late hour in the day.
“Good evening, Mr. SecretaryGeneral,” the news anchorman greeted. “Thank you for agreeing to speak to us concerning the continuing unrest in Turkey.”
“Please,” Carpathia said good-naturedly. “Address me as Nicolae. I am not comfortable standing on titles.”
Despite her attention to Goose, Megan couldn’t help watching the Romanian leader. There was something… not quite right about him. Something that bothered her. It was also something she hadn’t noticed till recently. When the man had first started appearing on television, she’d been taken in by the warm generosity he exuded.
“For a person not comfortable standing on titles,” Terrell said, “you’ve certainly acquired a number of them in short order.”
“I have been very fortunate and very diligent about the opportunities that came my way. But everything I do, I do for the good of the world and the people who are in it. We should all pay more attention to each other. Especially these days when there is so much confusion in the world.”
“I agree,” Terrell said. Then he smiled. “And not just because OneWorld NewsNet is one of the corporations you have a big interest in.”
Carpathia smiled as well. “I am glad to hear that. I came here to New York today to talk about the violence running rampant in the world. Before the disappearances, so much of the violence we have seen in recent days was barely kept in check. While I was living in Romania, I remained constantly aware of the tensions in Kosovo that threatened to spill over onto us, as well as the Russian-Chechen problems. Israel has always been a source of contention, and I fear that nation’s newfound wealth has only made her a greater target for her enemies.”
“He’s right,” someone said.
Megan looked around the room, amazed at how many people had gathered and were focused on Carpathia. There was something almost sinister about that.
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United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 0046 Hours
“These wars and all the infighting have to stop,” Carpathia said from his half of the split television screen. “We must find a way to live in peace with each other if we are going to survive whatever has happened to this world. A third of the people who had lived on this planet are now among the missing.”
Not missing, Megan thought. They’re with God. Her eyes never left Goose as he labored to save the life of the young soldier.
“I am working now on a new plan that I think will benefit all the nations of t
he world,” Carpathia said. “Many changes will come directly through the United Nations. President Fitzhugh and I have talked about what part he and the United States are going to play in this new world I am envisioning.”
New world? Megan thought. We don’t need a new world. We need to figure out how to live in this one. But she noticed that several of her fellow workers were nodding their heads in agreement. A chill crept up her spine at Carpathia’s words.
“The United Nations has put military forces in many nations across the globe,” Carpathia went on, “but these forces have seldom been allowed to act. I propose to change that. I am going to empower the men and women in those military forces to work more vigorously to make changes in the nations that have struggled to get along. I feel certain that a way can be made.”
“That’s certainly a lofty idea,” the anchorman, Terrell, said.
Carpathia grinned like a little boy. “I know. It sounds very much like a dream, but it is a dream I have had since I was very small. My mother brought me up to love peace, and she helped bring peace and wellness to the house I grew up in. I can only hope that my own efforts will honor her in some small way.”
“What do you visualize doing?”
Megan shook her head. Terrell’s questions might as well have been scripted.
“I want to change the United Nations into another entity, one that I propose calling the Global Community. I think that name better communicates what we can expect of the world we live in these days. With the access we have to the Internet and wireless devices, and with news media scattered around the world-”
“Especially OneWorld NewsNet,” Terrell interjected during Carpathia’s pause. “We can’t forget the tireless work that goes on behind the scenes here.”
“No,” Carpathia agreed. “We cannot. I am very proud of the work that the news agency does. I only wish I could claim credit for it, because you people have certainly racked up a lot of awards.”
“Thank you.” Terrell beamed. “Danielle Vinchenzo is surely going to be up for an award for her work in Turkey.”
“If she is not,” Carpathia said, “then there is no justice in the world.” He paused just a moment, then went on. “I will be in touch with you more as my plans for the Global Community solidify. But for the moment, let me say that I am very proud of those men- United Nations soldiers as well as Fort Benning’s own Rangers-who are assisting Turkish troops in trying to keep the peace in Turkey. From what I have seen today, that is a very hard thing to do.”
On the screen in Harran, Goose retrieved his weapon and stood. He spoke, but his voice had been muted.
“One thing I would like to tell the families of those Rangers serving in Turkey,” Carpathia continued, “is that I have taken steps that should see big changes occurring there. Turkey is an important linchpin between East and West, and that division needs to be maintained until I can deal with it.”
“You sound very confident that you’ll be able to handle everything over there,” Terrell said.
“I am.” Carpathia smiled a little. “I think, given the strangeness that has taken place recently, that most people are more ready to listen to reason than at any other time in history. Nothing on this grand of a scale has ever before occurred, and I doubt that it ever will again.”
Some of the listeners vocally hoped that the disappearances wouldn’t happen again.
They’re not going to, Megan thought. Those of you who didn’t vanish the first time are going to be stuck here for the next seven years.
But Carpathia’s words had reawakened the fear of the unknown in the listeners. None of the people left behind wanted to face the unknown again.
“They are ready to listen,” Carpathia said. “And in a little while, I will be ready to begin negotiations in those places. Like Turkey.”
Terrell smiled. “Very good, SecretaryGeneral Carpathia.”
“Nicolae, please.” Carpathia grinned affably.
On the television screen, Goose walked toward the camera, which turned and panned on him as he walked through the door.
Without warning, the wall suddenly caved in. A tank tread plunged through, sloughing debris. The cameraman dived for cover, and the camera angle slid around in all directions.
United States 75th Army Rangers Outpost
Harran
Sanliurfa Province, Turkey
Local Time 0741 Hours
The roar and clank of heavy armor filled Danielle’s ears as she ran down the street from the house where Goose worked on the wounded soldiers. She hadn’t been able to stay there even though she knew her departure would drive Goose crazy. Her skills included first aid, and she was certain-even without looking underneath the Kevlar vest as Goose had-that the young Ranger was well past needing first aid.
He needed a doctor. Goose carrying the man through town on his back wasn’t an option. If Goose had to try, Danielle had no doubt that he would do exactly that. But she’d noticed Goose limping as well. He wasn’t exactly in tip-top condition either.
Give me a car, Danielle thought desperately. A pickup. Please. Something. And quickly. She kept running.
Not many cars sat idle in Harran. Given the town’s poor economic conditions, very few people in the area owned vehicles.
But less than a block farther on, Danielle spotted a forty-year-old Russian delivery van with peeling black paint. The vehicle was definitely on its last legs. Arabic script covered the sides.
When she peered inside, Danielle saw that the ignition was empty. However, there were plenty of wires sticking out beneath the dash. She gripped the door and yanked it open. The old hinges screeched as the door moved. She climbed into the driver’s seat and ran a hand under the seat to make certain the keys hadn’t been tossed underneath.
Then she noticed that two of the wires near the steering wheel were stripped and hanging down. She grabbed them and touched them together. The truck’s engine tried to catch, the vehicle surging forward and shuddering because the clutch was left out.
Encouraged, Danielle pulled herself inside the cab and gazed through the cracked windshield. A rumbling, grinding noise came closer, sounding like approaching thunder. For a moment, she sat paralyzed by the sound, dreading what it portended.
Farther up the street, a mechanical assault vehicle plunged through a small house with a tremendous crash. Pieces of the house clung to the APC as it surged out into the street. Instead of wheels, the vehicle had tank treads that clanked menacingly and chewed through the pavement. It was so low and so broad that Danielle at first thought it was a tank; then she saw that it had no main gun. The Syrian camouflage design, light green and dark green, stood out clearly on the vehicle’s dust-covered hide.
Danielle cursed.
“Danielle,” Terrell said over the headset she still wore that linked her to OneWorld NewsNet, “can you tell us what’s going on? We’re still monitoring you. The cameraman seems to be nowhere near you.”
Gary wouldn’t want to be here right now, Danielle thought as she tried to break out of the paralysis.
A forward hatch opened on the tracked vehicle, and a man popped up like a gopher out of a hole. For a moment the comparison was hilarious, but it didn’t stay amusing for long. The Syrian soldier grabbed hold of a machine gun and spun it in her direction. He started firing too early, though, and the rounds chopped across the street in front of Danielle’s borrowed vehicle and smashed against the building beside her.
Danielle held the two wires beneath the steering column together. Sparks leaped. Heat singed her fingertips, but she held on stubbornly as the engine struggled to catch. For one sickening moment, she thought that maybe the delivery van had been left behind because it was broken down. She pumped the accelerator.
Don’t flood it, she told herself. Flood it, and you’re dead.
The machine gunner spun his weapon toward her again. Bay doors opened behind the forward hatch and revealed nearly a dozen Syrian soldiers.
Then, with a less-than-inspiri
ng rattle of metal, the engine found a life of its own. Danielle shoved the transmission into reverse, revved the engine, and prayed that it wouldn’t stall.
“Danielle,” Terrell tried again.
Ignoring the call, Danielle peered into the cracked side mirror to see where she was going. That was a lot easier than staring back at the Syrian APC. The roar of the machine gun filled the open cab of the van. Bullets tore through the passenger side of the windshield and pieces of glass fell across the seat.
Danielle yelped in fear and took evasive action. The van’s rear bumper scraped a wooden cart that had been left in the street and reduced the cart to splintery pieces. The van bumped and jostled as it rolled over them. The transmission whined loudly.
Daring a forward glance, Danielle saw the line of machine-gun bullets tracking back toward the van. Desperately she spun the wheel and cut away just before the machine-gun fire vectored in on her. Pulling the wheel sharply, she tried to back into an alley. Unfortunately she wasn’t as talented or lucky as she’d hoped. The rear bumper collided with the corner of the building and the van came to a sudden stop.
Hammered by the collision, Danielle ricocheted off the seat and the steering wheel with bruising force. She changed gears and tried to go forward, then realized the van’s engine had died. Still unable to catch her breath, driven purely by survival instinct, she reached for the wires and held them together again.
Machine-gun rounds thudded against the van’s side and passed through without slowing. The sound echoed deafeningly within the van.
Don’t hit the tires, Danielle thought desperately. Please, God, don’t let them hit the tires. Or me.
The engine caught again, easier this time. She shoved the gearshift into first, floored the accelerator, and let out the clutch. The van shot across the street just ahead of a hail of. 50-caliber rounds that would have destroyed the vehicle and her.
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United States 75th Army Rangers Outpost
Harran
Sanliurfa Province, Turkey
