Apocalypse Dawn

by Mel Odom

  Three men carried a fourth to a waiting truck marked with a Red Cross insignia. Just as they reached the truck, a group of four MiGs, the Russian-made aircraft the Syrians used, appeared in the south. The jets streaked out of the blue sky, looking like camo-colored darts.

  Goose switched over to the frequency used by the troops in the field. Before he could say anything, cries of, “Incoming! Incoming!” filled the headset. Knowing he couldn’t offer anything more, he clicked back to the command frequency Remington had designated to him.

  Below, men scattered all along the border.

  The MiGs peeled out of the tight diamond formation they had been in. Looking like high-tech vultures, the jets fired a salvo of air-tosurface missiles that rocketed toward the entrenched positions of the Turkish, U.S., and U.N. forces.

  The missiles struck the ground and unleashed thunderclaps of noise, as well as unbelievable destructive fury. One of the missiles struck the medical transport truck. Goose wasn’t certain they’d intended to hit that target or not; with the clouds of smoke and dust and the speed at which the MiGs were flying, it was possible that the pilot never saw the truck’s Red Cross markings.

  The missile struck the truck broadside, piercing the ribbed canvas and not exploding till it struck the ground. Later, Goose never knew if he actually saw the missile pass through the truck in one of those moments of crystal clarity that sometimes happened on the battlefield, or if the analytical processes in his mind that he tapped into while making decisions told him that was what had happened.

  In the end, it didn’t matter.

  The resulting explosion lifted the truck from the ground, whirling it end over end thirty feet into the air. The gas tanks ruptured and caught on fire. In the next instant, the truck was a flaming comet that descended on an M-1A1 Abrams tank. As the twisted hulk of the truck rolled from the tank, bodies of soldiers spilled out in its wake. Some of the corpses wreathed the Abrams.

  The three men who had been carrying the fourth had been blown several yards away. None of them got up.

  One of the few surviving anti-aircraft emplacements opened fire. A collection of American Rangers and Turkish soldiers operated the double-barreled weapon, tracking black clouds of flak across the blue sky. In the space of three or four seconds, the AA gun crew had the MiG’s range. The AA cannonfire struck the MiG like a giant’s fists, crumpling the warbird. Trailing oily black smoke, the MiG turned and tried to limp back south of the border. Another salvo of AA cannonfire caught up with the jet, and the resulting explosions broke it into fiery pieces.

  “Boo-yah!” Tanaka yelled a short distance from Goose. The young man stood and shook his fist at the falling debris that had been the enemy aircraft.

  In the next instant, one of the three surviving MiGs wheeled in the sky, flipping over in an inversion that took it away from the AA gunners’ sights. Still inverted, the Syrian pilot triggered his 20mm guns. The cannon rounds pounded the desert ground, opening harsh tears in the earth and throwing up spiraling double plumes of dirt, sand, and smoke. The pilot flipped over 180 degrees, never pausing on the 20mm cannon.

  Even as they realized the danger they were in, the AA crew was struck by the hammering bursts of 20mm cannonfire. Dead soldiers dropped, torn and bloody, like rag dolls. None of the brave crew that had brought the enemy jet down remained alive.

  Continuing to rain destruction down on the border, the MiGs slammed air-to-surface missiles into vehicles and groups of men. A direct hit by a missile blasted past the reactive armor covering an Abrams and tore the turret loose.

  A moment later, a surviving member of the tank crew tried to scramble from the rolling stock only to get caught by the next missile that flipped the Abrams over. The small American flag attached to the radio aerial burst into flames and incinerated.

  Goose watched the destruction helplessly. Hitting the MiG with a round from the M-4A1 would have been an amazing feat. And a waste of ammo, he thought bitterly. With supply lines cut up and in danger, there was no telling how much time would pass before the survivors could resupply.

  “Look out!” Tanaka yelled. “Incoming! Nine o’clock!”

  Goose swiveled his head to the left and spotted the MiG sweeping in from the east, running a nap-of-the-earth course. “Down!” he yelled. “Take cover!” He turned and ran, spotting the chaplain with the grievously wounded young soldier. “O’Dell!”

  The chaplain glanced up just as the first cannon shot tore up the desert terrain, heading for their position. “Help me! Please help me!” He gripped one side of the dust- and blood-covered blanket and started dragging the unconscious man toward the nearest RSOV.

  Shifting his assault rifle to his shoulder, Goose ran and caught the other side of the blanket. Adding his strength and speed to the chaplain’s efforts, together they humped the blanket toward the RSOV. Then the cannon fire echoed all around them, and Goose knew that if he could hear the destruction at nearly the same time as the rounds hit the ground that the enemy fire was almost on top of them.

  Five feet out from the RSOV, Goose yelled, “Under! Now!” and threw himself forward in a skidding dive. His strained shoulder screamed in renewed fury as he desperately clung to the blanket. O’Dell had gone to the ground at the same time, maintaining his hold on the blanket and the soldier as well.

  Gravel tore at Goose’s lower face. He arched his back, riding his Kevlar chest armor hard. Pain lanced his left knee, biting into his flesh. His mouth opened to yell, sucking in the dust-covered kerchief, and then a whirling maelstrom of sound drowned out any sound he might have made.

  United States of America

  Fort Benning, Georgia

  Local Time 1:16 A.M.

  Helplessly, Megan watched as Gerry Fletcher remained standing on the roof’s edge. God, where are You when I need You? We can’t let this happen! God, please don’t let this happen!

  The wind picked up, pulling at Gerry’s clothing with invisible fingers. He threw his arms out, and for a moment Megan thought he was going to throw himself over; then she saw that the movement was instinctive, made to keep himself from tumbling over the edge.

  The boy remained standing on the roof’s edge. The spotlight turned his auburn hair the copper color of a new penny. For a moment, in the harsh light, his hair looked like a red-gold halo.

  “Gerry,” Megan said. “I’ve got a phone here. Why don’t we call your mom?”

  Gerry hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t want to talk to her.”

  “I think it could help.” Megan thought about taking a step forward, slowly cutting down the distance separating her from the boy. But she knew if she encroached on him there was every chance she could scare him over the edge.

  New tears coursed down Gerry’s face. He trembled. “You don’t understand, Mrs. Gander. You never understand. I try and I try to tell you, but you just don’t get it. I’m a jinx to my mom and dad.”

  Megan knew that the words the boy used were his father’s.

  “I was born,” Gerry said, “and I screwed up their lives.”

  “That’s not true.”

  He turned to face her, his face angry. “It is true! All you gotta do is ask them!”

  “If your father feels that way—”

  “He does. And you know it.”

  “Your father is wrong,” Megan said.

  Gerry stared wild-eyed at her, as if he couldn’t believe she had said what she had.

  Never in one of her counseling sessions had Megan dared interfere so directly with the relationship between parent and child. She had always tried to mediate, to help one or both parties come to an understanding that worked for all of them. That was her job; the performance that she had agreed to undertake. Relationships healed best that healed together, when both or all parties took on some of the guilt and undertook a portion of the effort required to put things back together.

  But there is no guilt on Gerry’s side, God. Surely You see that. Of us all, You have to be able to see that. Don�
�t be blind to that now. Deep inside herself, though, Megan was afraid that God wasn’t listening, that He had turned a blind eye to the sparrow perched on this roof’s edge.

  “You can’t say that about my dad, Mrs. Gander,” Gerry said. “He’s a good soldier. He’s my dad.” He wiped tiredly at his eyes.

  “I didn’t say your father wasn’t a good man,” Megan replied. “I said he was wrong. Everybody can be wrong. We’re supposed to be wrong sometimes. That’s the best way we learn. From our mistakes.”

  “I’m the mistake,” Gerry sobbed. “There’s something wrong with me, Mrs. Gander. Something bad wrong. Before I was born, my mom and dad were happy. Now they’re not. It’s all my fault.”

  “Gerry, please. Let’s call your mom. I talked to her earlier—”

  “You did? Why did you do that?”

  “Because you ran from the hospital. Because I was worried about you.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that, Mrs. Gander.” Unable to remain calm, Gerry started pacing along the building’s edge. His arms shot out from time to time, and he nearly fell twice.

  “Gerry.” Unable to stop herself, Megan stepped forward.

  “Don’t!” Gerry screamed. “Stay back!” He turned and faced her so abruptly that he almost fell.

  Megan froze. Her heart beat so frantically it nearly burst. “Gerry, I’m stopping.”

  “Stay right there!” he commanded in a shrill voice.

  He’s afraid. Megan clung to that realization. As long as he’s afraid of falling, he won’t jump.

  “Gerry,” she said calmly, “I talked to your mother just a few minutes ago. She’s worried about you. She knows you’ve been to the hospital.”

  “Where is she?”

  “At home,” Megan said. “I told her to wait there in case you came home. She doesn’t know you’re up here. But I think she’d like to. I think she’d like the chance to talk to you.” She paused and took a deep breath, knowing she was about to push another of Gerry’s hot buttons. “I think you’d like to talk to her, too.”

  Stubbornly, Gerry shook his head. “When she finds out my dad got arrested because of me, she’s going to be mad.”

  “Your dad didn’t get arrested because of you. He got arrested because he attacked those other two men.”

  “I shouldn’t have gone to the hospital.”

  “You had to go to the hospital.” Megan slowly lifted her cell phone. “I’m going to call your mom.” And you’re going to push him to the point of no return. She hated that. But she felt certain there was no other way she was going to get Gerry from the rooftop. She pressed the Redial button, ringing the Fletcher home number.

  “Don’t!”

  Megan held the phone out, turning the volume up. “It’s ringing, Gerry. Do you hear it?”

  “No!”

  “Hello?” Tonya Fletcher’s voice sounded frantic. “Megan! One of my neighbors came over. Her husband is one of the MPs. What is Gerry doing up there?”

  Calmly, her breath feeling tight inside her lungs, Megan pulled the phone back to her ear. “Tonya, it’s Megan. I need you to be calm.”

  “Calm! My son is up on a rooftop! Where, I’ve been told, you chased him! How can you expect me to be calm! My husband is in jail, my son is in danger, and this is all because of you!”

  “Tonya.” Megan made her voice forceful. “We can sort out whose fault this is later. Right now Gerry needs to know that you want him safely down from here. Do you hear me?”

  “I hear you! But this isn’t my fault! This isn’t Boyd’s fault! We can’t help how Gerry is! Don’t you understand that? You’ve seen how he is! You’ve seen how he always wants attention!”

  Too late, Megan realized that Gerry heard every word his mother said. The rooftop was silent and still, and the tinny voice from the cell phone traveled easily to Gerry’s ears.

  “Gerry,” Megan said, covering the phone’s mouthpiece. Before she could say another word, a belligerent voice bellowed up from below.

  “Gerald Fletcher, you had better move your sorry self off that rooftop right this minute, mister! Don’t make me come up there and get you!”

  Megan recognized Boyd Fletcher’s voice. She was still a half step behind Gerry. The boy wheeled around at the roof’s edge, and fear filled his features. He seemed to regain his balance for a moment. Then his left foot shot out from under him.

  Megan was already in motion, watching as Gerry flailed his arms in a doomed effort to regain his balance. He toppled over the edge without a word.

  16

  United States of America

  Columbus, Georgia

  Local Time 1:18 A.M.

  “Do you even have a little brother?”

  Joey felt angry and scared all at the same time. Jenny was acting totally weird. She’s not just mad. She’s scared. Real scared, he amended. But he had no idea what she was scared of.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he demanded. Then he wondered if someone who evidently had that much wrong with them could even have a clue that something was wrong.

  A car horn blared.

  Yanking his attention back to the street, Joey discovered that he had wandered across the center line and was now traveling halfway in the oncoming lane. He pulled the wheel hard, overcompensating as he steered back onto the proper side of the road.

  His tires squealed. Another car horn bleated behind him. Bright harsh light flooded his back window, splashing against the rearview mirror and stabbing into his eyes to blind him.

  “Let me out!” Jenny demanded.

  Eyes tearing, mind scattered, Joey frantically tried to figure out where the street was. He couldn’t even remember where he was, but he knew he was close to the military base. The bright yellow car parked along the street appeared in his view like a ship pushing through a dense fog.

  “Stop!” he yelped.

  “You stop!” Jenny countered. She slapped him, hitting his arm and the top of his head.

  Joey raised the arm blocking the laser beams from the car on his rear bumper to protect himself. The bright lights zapped his eyes again. The car horn behind him blared once more, longer and louder this time.

  “Jenny!”

  She hit him again.

  “Jenny! C’mon! I can’t see! I’m gonna wreck!” And if his mom wasn’t already going to go through the roof, wrecking her car would definitely do it.

  Desperately, Joey reached up and twisted the rearview mirror out of his eyes. Almost too late, he spotted the red SUV at the side of the street. He pulled away from the collision course he was on, narrowly avoiding locking bumpers with the SUV. He didn’t even know if his mom’s insurance would go high enough to cover an expensive vehicle like that. And he was certain there wouldn’t have been much of his mom’s car left.

  Shifting in the seat, somehow snaking loose from the seat belt, Jenny got a leg up and kicked Joey in the side. “Let me out of this car! Let me out now!”

  “Ow!” Joey tried to cover his side. “Jenny, stop!”

  “You shouldn’t have lied to me! I get tired of being lied to! Everybody lies to me!”

  Man, she’s totally losing it! Tears leaked down Joey’s face. He was hurt and scared and probably madder than he had ever been. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a side street. He swerved the car, somehow escaping the merciless onslaught of the lights from the vehicle and the idiot driver behind him.

  Jenny slapped Joey in the head again.

  “Stop!” Certain he was out of the flow of traffic now, Joey stomped the brakes. The car came to a rocking halt. He raised both hands and caught Jenny’s wrists.

  She kicked him in the face hard enough to split his lips.

  “Let me go!” she demanded. “Let me go now!”

  “All right, you psycho!” Joey shouted back. “I’m letting you go!” He tasted blood as he released her wrists.

  Jenny popped the door release and got out of the car.

  In dazed disbelief, still trying to figure out what had ju
st happened and what had set Jenny off, Joey watched her walk down the darkened street away from the car. For a moment, he just wanted to drop the car back into drive and leave her there. But the street looked like part of a residential area. There were no public pay phones around. And it wasn’t the kind of neighborhood where a stranger could bang on a door at this time of night and expect to borrow the phone.

  Frustrated, feeling so totally trapped, Joey popped his door open and stepped out into the night. “Jenny. Wait! Where are you going?”

  “Away from you.” She wrapped her arms around herself and kept walking.

  “Why?”

  “Because you lied to me, Joey. If that’s even your real name.”

  “C’mon. I didn’t start to work at Kettle O’ Fish under an alias.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “My name really is Joey.” Unable to just leave her, feeling pressured because he’d promised his mom he was going to pick up his little brother, Joey sprinted after her. “I really do have a little brother named Chris. I’ve got pictures.” At his age, he’d thought carrying pictures of his little brother—especially one that got all of the attention—was kind of a dumb thing to do, but Chris was the only little brother he had. Besides, not everybody got to open his wallet so his secret was usually safe.

  Jenny kept walking.

  In a half-dozen long strides, Joey caught up with Jenny. She swiped at him with a fist. He ducked back, only inches out of her reach. For a girl, she could really throw a punch.

  “Would you please look at my wallet?” Joey held it out, open to his driver’s license and base ID. “Look. I’ve got military ID, too.”

  “Go away, Joey. Or whatever your name is.”

  “This is stupid.” Joey stopped. Let her go, he told himself. You can’t stop stupid people from being stupid. People his age always said that. His anger stirred in him again. “You know, if anybody should be upset about tonight, it should be me. I took you to the club and watched you dance with every guy in the place but me.”