by Mel Odom
Local Time 0745 Hours
Panic filled Danielle when she realized she didn’t know where she was. In the confusion, she’d lost her orientation. All the houses and buildings along the street looked the same.
Think. You just came this way.
The side mirror showed that the Syrian military vehicle was trailing her. Machine-gun fire sounded behind her. A few bullets punctured the rear of the van and passed through the front windshield.
Danielle cut the wheel to plunge down an alley. The left side of the van scraped against the building. The impact ripped the side mirror off. Bolts bounced off the window. Fighting the wheel, she barely regained control before she crashed into the building on the other side.
The alley was a lot narrower than she’d thought it was. Only inches separated her from the sides as she rumbled toward the street at the other end. The Syrian vehicle was too wide to get through. She took hope in that.
In the next moment, the Syrian APC paused at the entrance of the alley.
Danielle hunkered lower in the seat, expecting the machine gun to open fire again. Instead, the gunner dropped back inside the vehicle. The rear bay doors closed as well. Then the APC surged forward. The tank treads chewed into the sides of the building like a harvester taking down wheat.
“No!” Danielle said in disbelief.
The Syrian war machine was actually gaining on her now. Behind it, buildings toppled into ruin. The APC suddenly transcended in Danielle’s mind to a thing crafted by her worst nightmares. She wasn’t going to be able to escape. The Syrians chasing her were unstoppable.
She reached the next street and cut hard left. The van skidded out of control, the bald tires struggling to find traction. She slewed sideways. A moment later, the Syrian vehicle powered through the final few feet of the alley and cut after her.
Just as she was preparing to abandon hope of getting away, much less of reaching Goose, Gary, and the wounded Rangers, Danielle spotted the house where she’d left them. Goose emerged from the door and looked in her direction.
Danielle knew he couldn’t have been expecting the sight that greeted him, but Goose never flinched. Or hesitated. Smoothly, like he had all day, he reached into his BDUs. After he’d inserted something into his weapon, he pulled the rifle to his shoulder.
Realizing that the sergeant wasn’t going to run, Danielle felt immediately guilty. Instead of helping the Rangers, she’d doomed them.
Local Time 0747 Hours
Goose took careful aim at the Syrian vehicle’s right tread. He recognized it as a Russian-made BTR-50. It was the only model that was tracked. All the other BTRs were wheeled. Tracks had been discontinued because they presented vulnerabilities similar to tanks, but the BTR-50s lacked the firepower tanks packed that kept soldiers back.
Danielle roared by in the van.
The forward hatch flipped open, and a Syrian soldier took hold of the machine gun. Fifty-caliber rounds filled the air around Goose like fat bumblebees. He heard them pass him only inches away.
Calmly, Goose slid his finger over the M-203’s trigger and launched the HE round at the APC’s right tread. The grenade flew thirty yards and impacted against the tread only inches above the street, almost exactly where he’d hoped it would hit. Trapped between the treads and the street, the HE round’s blast was even more concentrated.
The right tread came apart and started slapping the APC’s side in a deafening cacophony. Out of control, the left tread still digging into the street and powering the fourteen-ton vehicle forward, the APC came around in a tight circle. Then the tread lost traction, and the APC slid across the street.
By the time the tread grabbed hold again, the APC had come around 270 degrees and was now pointed at the house where the cameraman, Rainier, and Johnson lay. Goose watched helplessly as the APC surged forward a short distance and slammed into the house. The tracks ground through the side of the house, then started slipping on the debris.
Goose pulled the M-4A1 to his shoulder and took aim at the APC’s gunner as the man tried to bring the machine gun to bear. Goose fired four quick three-round bursts, ensuring that the man was down, then reached into his kit for an incendiary grenade. He pulled the pin, popped the spoon, and heaved the grenade toward the back bay doors as they started to open.
The grenade bounced against one of the doors, and for a moment Goose felt certain he’d missed the bay. Then the grenade dropped into the transport area.
Grimly, Goose concentrated on feeding an antipersonnel grenade into the M-203’s breech. He didn’t like using the incendiary grenades against soldiers. They burned at four thousand degrees and guaranteed instant death for the lucky ones and debilitating burns for anyone who survived the initial blast.
But he thought about the Harran citizens who had undoubtedly lost their lives in the morning’s attack. And he thought about Robert Johnson, who might not live to see noon. He turned off his compassion and closed the grenade launcher’s breech.
The incendiary grenade exploded as Syrian soldiers lined the transport area and prepared to open fire on Goose. Sheets of white-hot flame enveloped them. The ones who weren’t killed outright screamed in pain and terror. Two of them managed to clamber over the APC’s side and drop to the ground. Flames wreathed their bodies.
Steeling himself, Goose took deliberate aim and shot them, putting them out of their misery. God forgive me. He watched as the APC burned until he was satisfied no one remained alive on board. The stench of cooked human flesh filled the air.
Danielle pulled the van to a stop behind the APC. She remained well away from the curling flames. Getting out, she started forward, then stopped at the burned bodies of the two men Goose had shot. Her eyes fell on Goose and were filled with stunned disbelief.
Goose didn’t try to defend his actions. He was locked tightly into survival mode.
“You got the van, ma’am,” he said.
After a brief hesitation, Danielle nodded.
“It’s still running?”
“Y-yes.”
“You done good, ma’am. That was an awfully brave thing to do.”
“I brought these people down on top of you.”
“No, ma’am.” Goose walked back toward the house, peering through the ruined wall and seeing that Rainier, Johnson, and the cameraman hadn’t been injured by the flying debris. “They come here all on their own. They’re responsible for how they ended up.”
“I could have gotten you killed.”
“Ma’am, you brought a vehicle to transport our wounded.” Goose deliberately used the plural pronoun to point out their shared responsibility for the injured Rangers. “Nobody else here had the time to look for something. You done good.”
Inside the house, Goose finished tearing the door from its hinges. He laid it beside Johnson.
“You still with me, Private?”
“Yes, First Sergeant.”
“Good man. We’re going to take a little trip now. You ready for this?”
Johnson grimaced a little, then nodded as best he was able. “Yes, First Sergeant.”
“Ma’am, I’m going to need your help.”
Danielle came closer but was obviously uneasy about all the blood.
“Just hold on to his head. Keep him from getting banged around too much.”
“All right.” Danielle put her hands on either side of Johnson’s head.
“Ma’am, like this.” Goose interlaced his bloody hands, interlocking his fingers. “Make a cradle for his head. I’m going to be taking most of his weight, but I don’t want him to get hurt any more while we’re doing this.”
Danielle made a cradle.
Irritated, Goose noticed that the cameraman was still shooting. “Son, you could put that camera down long enough to give us a hand.”
“Gary,” Danielle said, “keep shooting.” She looked at Goose. “I can do this.”
Goose knew he didn’t have time to argue. He knelt down and slid his arms under Johnson’s lanky form. The
pain in his knee throbbed to renewed life, feeling as though a shark’s jaws had closed on it and were grinding away. His breath caught at the back of his throat and for a moment he felt like he was going to black out.
You hold it together, Sergeant. You got to get these people out of here.
“Brett,” Goose said to Rainier.
“Yes, First Sergeant.”
“You’re lookout, son. Keep your eyes peeled.”
“Yes, First Sergeant.”
“Goose.” Remington’s voice sounded in Goose’s ear.
“Falcon Three reads you, Base.” Goose lifted Johnson’s body as carefully as he could, then maneuvered the wounded Ranger onto the door. He laid him gently on the wooden surface.
“You’ve got to get out of there,” Remington said. “The helos have almost all lifted.”
“Tell them to hold one,” Goose said. “I got a seriously injured man with me. He needs a medic right now.”
“I will, but I can’t hold it for long.”
“We’ll be there. Just buy me some time.”
Danielle stripped out of her Kevlar vest and outer shirt, leaving only a blue sleeveless shirt. She folded her blouse and put it under Johnson’s head.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Johnson croaked.
“You’re welcome, soldier.”
“Get that vest back on,” Goose said.
Danielle nodded and pulled the body armor on again.
Taking a roll of ordnance tape from his kit, Goose lifted one end of the door and quickly ran lines of tape across Johnson’s chest to hold him to the door. Then Goose did the same to the young Ranger’s feet.
“I’m thirsty,” Johnson whispered.
Danielle reached for the canteen at her hip. Goose was pleased to see that she’d made a habit of carrying water. She was learning quickly.
“No water,” Goose said.
Danielle looked at him.
“Private,” Goose said.
“Yeah, Sarge.”
“With the injuries you’ve got, drinking water right now isn’t a good idea. Let the medics have a look at you first.”
Johnson nodded. “Yes, First Sergeant.”
Instead of putting the canteen away, Danielle opened it and poured some of the water onto a gauze pad from the emergency medical kit she retrieved from the cameraman’s bag. She pressed the saturated gauze pad against Johnson’s mouth.
“It’s not much,” she apologized, “but it’ll wet your lips.”
Johnson nodded and sucked at the gauze. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Goose turned his attention to Gary, the cameraman. “You’re going to have to put that camera down now. We need help.”
Gary glanced at Danielle, and she nodded. With obvious reluctance, the young man put his camera into a case and zipped it shut. He slung the case, then joined Danielle at the foot end of the door. Goose managed the other end by himself. Rainier started to put his carbine away and help.
“No,” Goose said. “You got point. Stay ready. Let’s go.”
23
United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 0754 Hours
“You can’t leave Sergeant Gander there, Captain,” Alexander Cody said.
Remington ignored the CIA section chief. The captain was already deeply aware that he couldn’t leave Goose behind in Harran. OneWorld NewsNet was making him out to be a hero. Again.
The news channel’s screen remained split, displaying the continuing attack on Harran as well as looping the footage that had been shot of Goose’s own struggles to stay alive.
“If the sergeant dies,” Cody said, “we’ve lost the only link we have to Icarus.”
Remington was more conscious of Goose’s public image. Goose had gotten a lot of international attention whether he’d wanted it or not. Abandoning him in Harran, especially when he was risking his life to bring home a wounded fellow Ranger, was out of the question.
“Lieutenant Archer,” Remington barked.
“Sir.” The junior officer wheeled about rapidly.
“Get me a twenty on First Sergeant Gander. I want a sat-eye and constant GPS on him.”
“Right away, sir.” Archer abandoned the marker board and hurried over to the computer techs.
“Black Angel Leader, this is Base.”
“Go, Base.”
Remington peered at the large computer monitor that displayed the overhead view of the city. He spotted the ten Black Hawk combat choppers winging over Harran from the north. Farther south, the Syrian forces had slowed only slightly, like waves crashing onto a rocky shore.
“I need a pickup performed inside the town,” Remington said. “I want a pilot who can sit one of those birds on a dime and take off again in the heat of battle.”
“Affirmative, sir. I have just the man.”
“Get him up front first to off-load those mines, then have him double back. I want him on a private frequency to handle the pickup.” Remington rattled off the channel they’d be using for the exfiltration.
“Base, this is Black Angel Eleven,” a calm male voice said over the new frequency.
“Eleven, this is Base. First Sergeant Gander is loose in the streets with a wounded Ranger. He’s not going to make it to the evac site. I need you to pick him up.”
“Understood. Happy to do it, Base. The top has always been a good guy in our books.”
Remington resented the implied familiarity with Goose. Even though the sergeant didn’t make a conscious effort to get to know everyone, it always seemed like he did. Faces and names, as well as the circumstances where he’d encountered them, just came easily to Goose. Remington was convinced that Goose could walk up to a fence post and strike up a conversation.
Switching to the frequency Goose was monitoring, Remington called for him.
“I read you, Base,” Goose answered. His voice sounded strained and distant.
“You’re not going to make the evac, Goose,” Remington said.
If Goose was upset at the news, he didn’t let it show. “I’m sorry to hear that, sir. I’d counted on it for Johnson’s sake.”
“One of the Black Hawks is going to pick you up. We’re negotiating an LZ right now.”
“I appreciate it, Captain. We’ve lost enough good men out here today.”
Remington glanced over at the television and discovered that Danielle Vinchenzo was back on the air. There was no picture, but the audio was coming through, and a transcription was being printed across the split screen under looped segments of the rescue of the Rangers in the house.
“Is that reporter always so close to Sergeant Gander?” Cody asked.
“No, but she is a lot of the time. Too many of the wrong times, as it turns out.”
“Captain,” one of the security teams called in Remington’s ear.
“I want no interruptions,” Remington said.
“Understood, sir. But you also left orders to let you know if a reporter from OneWorld NewsNet showed up. There’s one here now, sir.”
Remington glanced back at the door to the command post. A clean-cut young man with blond hair stood in the doorway. An older man carrying a camera case in one hand stood beside him.
“Show them in,” Remington said.
The young man crossed the floor and extended a hand. He exuded confidence and competence. “I’m Josh Campbell, Captain Remington. It’s an honor to meet you.”
“Mr. Campbell.” Remington took the young man’s hand and released it.
“This is my associate, Ben Howard.” Campbell nodded toward the cameraman.
Howard inclined his head but didn’t say anything.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Campbell?” Remington asked.
“My news director, at the request of Nicolae Carpathia, sent me here to get your story.”
“Why?”
Campbell smiled hugely, exposing keen white incisors that were made for the camera. “Be
cause your efforts here in Sanliurfa are important, Captain Remington. Nicolae feels that the world should know about them.”
Remington noticed how easily the younger man threw around Carpathia’s name. It was like they were old friends. Strangely, the usage didn’t hit the captain’s lie radar.
“Nicolae has big plans for you, Captain,” Campbell said.
“What plans?”
Campbell grinned again and shook his head. He mimed zipping his mouth shut. “Nope. You’re not going to hear it from me. That’s Nicolae’s surprise to spring. I’m just here to make you look good and make sure the whole world knows who you are.”
“Sir,” Archer called.
Remington glanced at the lieutenant.
“We’ve located Goose.” Archer touched one of the computer screens.
“Find me a location where a Black Hawk can sit down,” Remington ordered. “Then get First Sergeant Gander there.”
“Yes, sir.” Archer turned to the task.
“I can see you’re really busy at the moment,” Campbell said. “Maybe you could point us to an out-of-the-way place.”
“Corporal,” Remington addressed the guard who had brought the newsmen over.
“Sir.”
“Escort these men to a neutral area. Keep them in the loop, but sit on them.”
The corporal saluted smartly and led his charges away.
“Having the media underfoot isn’t a good thing.” Cody scowled in irritation.
“Maybe not if you’re living the life of a cockroach and can’t stand the light,” Remington said, feeling better about things already. “I’m not involved with anything that’s going to send my career down in flames.”
“You’re involved with me. I’m involved with Icarus. If that man shows up at the wrong time, if what he knows falls into the wrong hands, everything over here could go wrong.”
Remington gazed at the man coolly. “You’re making me think I should reevaluate this working relationship we have.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then perhaps you should think more quietly,” Remington suggested. Personally, he was looking forward to having his story told in the media. This was where he belonged: in the limelight. He turned his attention back to the events unfolding in Harran.
