by Mel Odom
As the other Rangers belted in around the RSOV, Goose took his position in the passenger seat. “Let’s roll,” he told Tanaka.
Tanaka let out the clutch and the four-wheel drive kicked small rooster tails in the sand for a moment before catching better traction.
Glancing over his shoulder, Goose saw the second RSOV flank them, staying behind and to the right. He checked the western skies, knowing the aircraft from USS Wasp was inbound from that direction.
Except for the smoke and dust haze rising from Glitter City, the blue sky remained empty.
C’mon, Goose thought, be there. We’ve got a lot to do.
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 1:12 A.M.
“Gerry.” Megan grew short of breath as she sprinted up the steel fire escape that zigzagged back and forth across the outside of the resident building. She was in shape from the sports she and Goose played, but that didn’t prepare her to be at peak condition during one of the most intensely stressful situations of her life. “Gerry.”
The boy didn’t answer.
Below, out in the parking lot, Private Newman and his friends kept the spotlight on the boy. They also stayed back at Megan’s request. At this point, with everything that had happened to him tonight, she wasn’t sure what Gerry Fletcher was capable of doing.
“Gerry.” Megan’s feet drummed against the metal fire escape steps. The clanging noises rang and echoed against the apartment building.
One of the windows above on the third floor opened and a young, bare-chested man leaned out. His dog tags glinted in the spotlight. Rap music with unintelligible lyrics blared out into the night. “Hey! What’s going on out here?” he demanded.
Without pausing to answer, Megan ran past him. The vibration of her passing tipped over a wrought-iron stand containing three potted plants. Potting soil and vegetation scattered across the landing and leaked through the holes in the grilled landing.
“Hey,” the guy in the window called again. He started climbing out.
“Back off, soldier,” Megan ordered, putting all the steel she could muster into her voice. During her observations of Goose in his element, she’d seen him bark commands in the same kind of tone. He’d told her that the voice of authority was something a soldier often responded to without identifying the source, if the speaker could carry off the role. The ability to produce that voice was one of the first deciding factors in choosing non-coms and officers.
The soldier froze halfway out of the window.
Megan grabbed the next rail headed up and took the steps two at a time. She looked up at Gerry Fletcher. The boy still stood transfixed in the bright spotlight. His face was wracked with anguish and fear. Tears glistened like silver as they ran down his cheeks to his quivering chin.
Heartbroken, Megan thought as she hurled herself up the flight of steps. And terrified. She couldn’t help wondering how much of Gerry’s life had been spent feeling that way. Later. Think about that later. Get him down from the building now. Why did he come up here? Why is he standing near the edge? God, that boy shouldn’t be up here.
But she was afraid she knew.
God, I need Your help here. I hope that You’re listening. Please be listening.
In the parking lot below, a military Jeep with flashing security lights pulled to a stop beside Newman and his friends. Two uniformed MPs got out with flashlights and shined the beams over the Jeep, highlighting Newman and his friends.
Megan ran. Her breath burned the back of her throat and her lungs seemed too small to drag in the air that she needed. Calm, she instructed herself. Gerry needs you calm. You need to be calm for yourself.
She pulled up the final few steps. Her body felt like lead. Everything seemed to be going too fast and too slow at the same time. She stepped out onto the rooftop. Gravel cracked and crunched under her feet. She had to be trapped in a nightmare. This had to be a nightmare. God help her if it wasn’t.
Gerry Fletcher stood farther down the same wall she’d come up on. The spotlight on his body turned him almost ghostly white in the front and made his back half as black as night.
“Stay away, Mrs. Gander,” Gerry said in a voice that broke. “Please stay away.”
Megan stopped immediately. In a situation like this, the potential victim needed to feel in charge. Many suicides took their own lives in an attempt to prove they had some control left to them. She held her hands out to her sides.
“All right, Gerry,” she said in a calm voice. “I’ve stopped.”
Gerry looked back out at the parking lot.
The MPs shined their lights up at the roof, adding to the intensity of the spotlight. Then they started for the building.
“Gerry.” Megan forced herself to sound calm. She didn’t feel that way, but she could sound that way—with effort. Years spent counseling troubled youths had honed that skill within her. “You’ve got to come away from the edge of the building, Gerry. If you don’t, the MPs are going to come up.”
Gerry shook his head, peered over the edge, and looked like he was going to throw up. But when he faced her, he still looked resolute. “If they do, I’ll jump.”
The calm way he stated his planned action scared Megan. Gerry sounded broken in spirit, filled with a quiet desperation that ran bone deep. “You’re breaking the law, Gerry. They can’t just walk away.”
“I’m planning on jumping anyway.” Gerry’s voice remained calm and matter-of-fact. “When they get too close, then I’ll jump.”
“Let me try to stop them,” Megan offered. She lifted her cell phone and punched in the number to the security office.
The dispatch officer came on in a crisp, efficient tone.
“This is Megan Gander,” Megan said, watching the MPs jog across the parking lot. “You’ve got men monitoring a situation near the base hospital. A boy on an apartment building roof.”
“Who are you, Mrs. Gander?” the dispatcher asked. Other voices sounded in the background, other dispatchers working other calls.
“I’m the boy’s counselor,” Megan said. “You can verify that through Helen Cordell at the base hospital. She called me in. Dr. Carson is the attending physician in the ER tonight. He’s aware of the situation as well.”
The MPs had jogged to the base of the building.
“I’ll do that now, Mrs. Gander,” the dispatcher replied. “Until then, the MPs—”
“Back them off,” Megan said, watching as one of the MPs started up the fire escape. “If they try to come up after him, he’s threatened to jump.”
“Ma’am, I haven’t confirmed who you are or what the situation—”
“Do you want to confirm all that after he’s jumped?” Megan interrupted with desperate anger.
The brief pause that came after her challenge seemed elastic, like it would stretch on forever. Then he said, “All right, Mrs. Gander. You’ve got a point.”
Listening closely, her eyes on Gerry, Megan heard the dispatcher order the MPs stand down. The transmission through the MPs radios came from below, lagging a half second behind the cell phone connection.
“Gerry,” she said, turning back to the boy. “They’ve stopped. See? You’re in control here. We’re going to do what you want to do.” God, please give me the time and the skill to convince him that he wants to live. I’ve asked You for a lot in the past, but I really need Your help here. She stepped toward the edge where the MPs could see her.
Their flashlights played over her. Light seared into her eyes and she turned away. The MPs pointed their lights to the side. Looking down again, she experienced immediate vertigo. How far up was four stories? She didn’t know. But she was certain that the height was more than enough to kill an eleven-year-old boy.
“Step back away from the building,” Megan called down to the MPs.
The young soldier leaning out the window of his apartment remained in that position below. The rap music continued to blare. Unbelievably, the soldier held a
small camcorder in his hands. The intense light sprayed through the dark night, mixing with the blinding glare of the spotlight.
“Mrs. Gander,” one of the young MPs said. The tone indicated that he wanted verbal confirmation.
“Yes,” she answered in a firm voice. “I need you to step back. Please.”
“Yes, ma’am. If you need any help, just let us know.” The MP stepped back from the building. He cupped the walkie-talkie microphone clipped to his right shoulder and spoke briefly.
“I will. But I think Gerry and I are quite capable of getting our- selves out of this situation.” Megan looked at the boy. Tears still cascaded down his face. “We can handle this, can’t we, Gerry?”
Gerry didn’t answer.
Megan waited, then talked more softly, as if she didn’t want the MPs to hear. Actually, she intended the effort to bring Gerry and her together, to let the boy know he was helping someone else. Sometimes by helping someone else, a person better learned to help himself.
“They need to hear you, Gerry,” Megan said. “They need to know that you’re in control of the situation. They have to tell the dispatch officer that they’re confident that you know what you’re doing.”
Gerry didn’t move, didn’t speak.
“Gerry, I need your help. They need your help. I’ve got to try to do my job, and they’ve got to try to do theirs.”
The boy swallowed hard. “It’s okay. Me and Mrs. Gander are gonna talk.”
Thank You, God, Megan thought. But she knew the quick response on her part was just lip service. She didn’t believe God had anything to do with the present situation. She didn’t see how. If God were paying attention, He would never have allowed Gerry Fletcher up on the roof.
“That’s fine,” one of the MPs called up. “You guys talk all you want to. But if you could move away from the roof’s edge, it would help.”
Megan looked at Gerry, putting the response back onto the boy.
“No,” Gerry said. “I’m not leaving, Mrs. Gander.” He wiped his face with a shaking hand. “I’m going to jump. I really am.”
15
United States of America
Columbus, Georgia
Local Time 1:12 A.M.
“So, you and your mom.”
Joey braked to a halt at a stoplight that had turned red right before he reached it. He turned to look at Jenny McGrath in the passenger seat. Since they’d left the club, they hadn’t talked much. During his cell phone conversation with his mother, he had noticed Jenny was being really attentive while trying not to get caught eavesdropping.
“Yeah?” Joey prompted.
Jenny looked at him. The stoplight threw red light over her face, revealing her right profile in red highlights and leaving the left side of her face buried in shadow. It was like she was trapped between two worlds.
Joey didn’t know where the impression had come from, but once the thought had come to his mind he couldn’t get rid of it.
“You and your mom are close,” Jenny said.
“Yeah. Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
Joey looked away, aware that the young woman’s eyes were boring into his, seeming to see past so much of the image that he had built up to impress her. “I kind of blew curfew tonight. Not exactly a step designed to build closeness.”
Surprisingly, Jenny laughed. “No,” she agreed. “Definitely not.”
“What about you?” Joey said, thinking that if an opportunity presented itself he should capitalize on it.
“What about me?”
“Are you close to your mom?”
Jenny looked away. “She’s dead.”
Joey felt horrible. The night just wasn’t going well at all. He felt like he couldn’t do anything wrong without making a mess of things. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“No,” Jenny agreed. “You didn’t.” Her face turned green. She waited a beat, then pointed at the traffic light. “Green. We can go.”
Feeling even more inadequate, Joey took his foot from the brake and placed it on the accelerator. He sped up, following the familiar streets back to Fort Benning.
“You didn’t do anything wrong by asking, Joey,” Jenny said. “You couldn’t know. It’s just me and my father.”
“No brothers or sisters?”
She shook her head, then a smile twisted her lips. “But you have a little brother.”
“Chris.” Joey nodded. “Yeah.”
“So how old is he?”
“Five,” Joey said. “And don’t try to tell him any different because he can count.”
“Five’s a cute age.”
And seventeen’s not? Joey wanted to ask. But he didn’t. He was afraid of the answer. Especially since he’d told Jenny he was twentyone. “How do you know about cute ages for kids?” he countered. “If you don’t have a younger brother or sister?”
“Before I became a server, I worked in a child-care center. I liked working with the creepers.”
“Creepers?”
“Kids ten to fourteen months old. The daycare center staff called them creepers because they just started to pull themselves up on things and walk.”
“Oh.”
Jenny looked at Joey and smiled again. “And you were thinking?”
“Horror movie stuff. Aliens. Predators. Creepers.” Joey shrugged. “Just seemed to fit.”
“So what’s your little brother like?”
Joey slowed and took a left through the intersection, making certain he had plenty of room before the oncoming traffic reached them. A pang of jealousy ripped through him. Jenny didn’t even know Chris and already her attention was zeroing in on him, leaving Joey way behind.
Struggling to mask his hurt and disappointment, Joey said, “Chris is great. Everybody likes him.” Can’t you tell?
“Must be nice.”
“What?”
Jenny looked away from him, turning to play with her hair in her reflection on the side window. “Having a little brother.”
“Some days,” Joey admitted. “Other days, I wish I was an only child.”
“Why?”
Joey shrugged. “Kinda miss all the attention.” Miss it a lot, actually.
“You do, huh?” Jenny turned her attention to him.
Really regretting all the scrutiny he was getting, and feeling more than a little defensive, Joey said, “Yeah. I mean, you have to work your tail off at home to get your parents to notice you because all your cuteness points faded back in a past you can barely remember, and your little brother just has to step into the room and—pow! He’s the center of attention.”
“That happens a lot?”
“Yeah,” Joey said. “All the time.” A kaleidoscope of images swirled through his mind, stinging with each memory of how Chris had so nonchalantly taken the full attention of both parents and any other adult who happened to be around. “I mean, it’s like Chris is a magnet for attention.”
A brief, tense silence stretched between them. Joey had the feeling he had done something incredibly stupid, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was.
“I thought you lived in an apartment with a roommate,” Jenny said. Her voice turned cold and hard. She slid away from him, pressing herself up against the door. “That’s what you told me at Kettle O’ Fish.”
Too late, Joey realized that one of his lies had been found out. And they were all tied together. Sick apprehension filled him.
“What else have you lied about?” Jenny demanded.
Turkey
37 Klicks South of Sanliurfa
Local Time 0810 Hours
Artillery fire peppered the ridge of desert rock Captain Remington had chosen as Goose’s observation point. Goose braced himself as Tanaka hit the brakes. The RSOV skidded through the loose sand and broken rock that covered the area from the explosions that had turned the border region into a moonlike landscape.
Keeping his head low and his helmet cinched up tight enough to keep it on, Goose stepped
from the RSOV and sprinted over to the com team Remington had waiting for him. The two men pressed themselves into the lee side of a rocky outcrop that thrust up to a broken point twenty feet overhead.
Despite the preparation he’d had for the scene and the occasional glances of the border he’d gotten while racing for the observation point, the carnage strung along the border nearly froze Goose’s heart. In all his years as a soldier, Goose had never seen anything that could have left him ready for the horrible consequences of the clash that lay before him.
The Syrian infantry remained too far away to see with the naked eye. According to Remington’s reports while Goose had been en route, after the initial flurry of SCUDs and FROGs had landed within Syrian occupied territory, the enemy army—at this point that was the only way Goose could think of them—the Syrians had abandoned their posts and pulled back.
If the Turkish government and the United Nations could have agreed with President Fitzhugh’s desire to send the troops into Syria, a beachhead could have been established. Recon posts and maybe even search-and-destroy missions against specific targets identified from earlier intel could have been organized. But that hadn’t happened. Now, if those same operations had to be done, the cost in lives was going to escalate.
Goose raked his gaze over the death and destruction that filled the border area. Artillery shelled the area, harrying the men dug in along the invisible front line. Smoke and dust swept across the land, carried in clouds that swirled slowly in the dry breeze. Exploding mortars and rocket fire hammered those clouds, blowing them to smithereens or causing them to twist in new and violent gyrations.
The dust and smoke looked like wraiths, Goose realized, and his neck prickled at the thought, though he wasn’t usually prone to an overactive imagination.
Men and pieces of men were scattered in all directions. As bad as Glitter City had been, the border units had been hit worse. Soldiers hustled through the burning APCs, Hummers, tanks, and cargo trucks, all overturned and strewn about like an angry child’s toys. The uninjured men were working to separate the quick from the dead. A few of the men had medical bands on their arms to identify them for and protect them from enemy snipers. However, the Syrian artillery fire recognized no Geneva Convention edicts and had no conscience. From Goose’s vantage point, it looked as though the corpsmen were being targeted because of those armbands.
