by Mel Odom
He settled back against the metal wall and tried to relax, but images of Fieldstone getting killed just inches from him wouldn’t go away. Fieldstone had been young, too young to die.
How many young men were going to be required to make those kinds of sacrifices during the next seven years? And in the end, would they be able to make a difference?
Thinking about differences also made Goose think about Captain Cal Remington. He didn’t like the thoughts that came to his mind or the knowledge that whatever was going on in Sanliurfa was pulling them apart.
EPILOGUE
Church of the Word
Marbury, Alabama
Local Time 1847 Hours
Delroy Harte drove the tractor through the dense undergrowth that had filled the acreage behind the Church of the Word. A small stream still ran through it, and he’d uncovered most of it with the brush-hog attachment. Here and there, lines in the earth showed where it had once been tilled. He remembered picking snap beans and sugar peas with his mother, waiting till the strawberries ripened in May and June, digging potatoes and sweet potatoes and onions with his daddy to put into the root cellar.
He found the frayed gray rope of what might have been a tire swing. He’d even found the pitcher’s mound his daddy had made almost fifty years ago when he’d taught Delroy how to throw and catch and bat.
While mowing, Delroy imagined the voices and laughter of dozens, maybe even hundreds, of baseball games played in the back of the field as part of the church functions, and—a lot of times—just when a bunch of kids had gathered with their bats and gloves. When someone had gotten a new baseball, all shiny and white, that usually guaranteed a game that day.
Delroy guessed there were at least a million memories of his family and growing up here, and as he mowed, he also mined them. He’d even brought Terrence out to this field a few times to pitch and hit, but it just hadn’t been the same. Delroy had kept looking for his daddy, thinking how grand it would have been if they could have all played baseball together.
Maybe some other time, he thought. God willing, there will be a time when we can all play together.
He took out more of the undergrowth, pleased with the ripsaw sound of the brush hog as it brought civilization back into the neighborhood. Other members of the congregation had offered to do the work, but Delroy wanted to do it himself, wanted to feel how it was to work the land again. He had accepted the loan of a pair of bib overalls because he didn’t have any.
Several members of the congregation still labored on the church, cleaning and painting and retooling woodwork that hadn’t been touched in years. A group of them had even started sanding the pews down one by one, then putting new lacquer on them.
As he backed the tractor up, Delroy saw Glenda standing only a short distance away. She carried a big picnic basket under her arm.
Delroy had to smile. The wooden picnic basket had been one of their first extravagances as a married couple.
He switched off the engine, sat with his arms wrapped around the steering wheel, and looked at her. She still had the power to take his breath away.
Glenda shaded her eyes. “Hey, sailor. Looking for a good time?”
“Oh, and listen to you,” Delroy said with a grin. “All that brave talk from way over there.”
“I’m not walking out there in all those brambles. I don’t have to.”
“And why not?”
“Because I’ve got fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn on the cob, green beans, and buttermilk rolls in this basket.”
“It’s tempting,” Delroy said.
“Better than that,” Glenda said. “It’s homemade. So is the deepdish apple pie I made for dessert. I also made a jug of tea, sweet and dark, with some fresh lemon.”
“That’ll close the deal.” Delroy climbed down from the tractor, surprised at how stiff he’d gotten from just a few hours of work. He crossed over to her and gave her a brief hug.
Even though she’d come to the revival yesterday and stayed late at the church, Delroy spent the night again at the Purcell home. After nearly five years of absence, more than the times they’d been apart while he’d been at sea, Delroy knew they were going to have to move slowly to rekindle everything they’d once had.
If that was even possible.
After five years of being more or less alone, both of them had changed in some ways, grown more independent.
Phyllis, however, had been willing to bet they’d be back together before another six months were gone. But she didn’t know that what Delroy planned would put even more strain on an already strained relationship.
“Where do you want to sit?” Glenda asked.
“I found the old stream again,” Delroy said.
Together, they walked toward it and found a comfortable shaded spot. Evening was starting to stretch the shadows long and thin.
Glenda wore slacks and a blouse, but she’d brought a sweater against the evening’s chill.
Delroy helped her spread out the red-and-white-checked blanket, then put out the food. They ate and talked about the memories they shared, about Terrence, and even a little about the things that had happened in the past five years.
But they stayed away from the topic of the future. That subject was still too unsettling, and that was before any of the threats of the Tribulation were thrown in.
Until Glenda looked at Delroy, while he was taking his time with the deep-dish apple pie, and said, “You’re not staying, are you?”
Delroy finished chewing the bite he had, giving himself a little more time to think about how handle that question.
“You don’t have to beat around the bush, Delroy,” Glenda said. “I knew that you couldn’t stay here. Not yet anyway.”
“No, ma’am,” Delroy said. “I’ve still got a ship out there that’s wrapped up in a war.” He hesitated. “I’ve got to wrap up some things before I try taking on anything new.”
Glenda drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. “I’m not going to act like I’m not disappointed.”
“I figured you’d be more relieved to find out,” Delroy said.
Glenda laughed. “Maybe there’s a little of that too.” She looked sad. “It’s been such a long time since it’s been just you and me.”
“I know.” Delroy ate another bite of pie. “I’ve spent five years with those men, Glenda, and I haven’t given them everything I was supposed to. I want to go back and do it right.”
“That’s fine. I understand.”
“Then there’s the Tribulation. Most people, they’re not ready to believe that this is the end, that there’s only seven more years left of this world. And so many people aren’t going to last that long.” Delroy looked at her. “I feel like I’m supposed to be part of this—part of whatever it is, whatever it takes to save what we can of the folks who just don’t know what’s going on.”
“I know. I heard you speak yesterday. I heard your message. It made me think a lot of your daddy. And when I saw you with Clarence Floyd? How you brought even him to Jesus like you did?” Glenda reached out and stroked his face. “You’re ready, Delroy. You’re a warrior, and this is going to be your fight.” She frowned a little. “I’ll worry about you, and I’ll pray for you, and I’ll miss you. But I want you to know that I’m going to wait on you. Till you get back home or we are together again in the hereafter. Whatever it takes.”
Delroy captured Glenda’s hand in his, seeing how small hers was against his. He kissed her fingers and said, “Thank you.” There was nothing else to say. Their hearts knew each other—always had, and always would.
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 2223 Hours
“I found her,” Doug Benbow said on the other end of the phone line.
“Where is she?” Megan juggled her cell phone and the sack of groceries she’d just bought in the commissary to take home to Camp Gander. She crossed the packed parking lot to Goose’s pick
up truck.
“Saint Francis Hospital,” Benbow said.
“They have phones there,” Megan pointed out. “She could have called.”
“Megan, I know. I tried to put a call through to her father’s room, but nobody answers.”
“Did you call the floor nurse?”
“Yeah. She says that a young woman who fits Jenny’s description is there.”
“Did you try to get her to give Jenny a message? Let her know we’ve been trying to get in touch with her and that we care?” Megan knew she sounded tired.
Yesterday’s trial had taken nearly everything out of her. Then returning to Camp Gander without Jenny’s help, the additional worrying about Jenny, and fending off media people who wanted to interview the woman who seemed to have set the military on its ear by inspiring them to come forward and declare that there is a God had stranded Megan in a world that seemed too fuzzy and too far away to be real.
“Don’t you think sending the nurse in there is a little invasive?” Benbow asked.
“You’re right,” Megan said. “I can swing by there in twenty minutes and check on her myself. I’ll feel better if I can see her.” She dug her keys out of her purse. “Did you find out about her dad?”
“Traffic accident. He was drinking. One-car accident.” Benbow hesitated. “The nurse I talked to and convinced that I was a family member told me they don’t think he’s going to pull through.”
Megan felt horrible. In spite of everything yesterday, things were still going wrong. She didn’t know if she would be allowed to continue her job as counselor for the teens. For the moment she was still providing room and board for many of them, but she was afraid General Braddock would try to phase her out. She didn’t know what she would do if that happened.
“You’re going out there?” Benbow asked.
“Yes.”
“Tonight?”
“Right now.”
“Want company?”
“This might be more girl time, Doug. No offense.”
“Oh, none taken. Trust me. I can use the sleep. Call me if you need anything. Or if Jenny needs anything.”
Megan said she would, then punched End on the cell phone. Only when she was standing beside Goose’s pickup did she realize the passenger-side window was broken out. She started to back away.
Then Joey poked his head out of the shadows. He was scared and his face was horribly bruised. “Mom,” he said in a quavering voice. “I’m in trouble. I’m in real trouble.”
United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 0623 Hours
Goose stood in front of the foggy mirror in the gym the Rangers used for showers. Few buildings had working power in the city now. He stood with a towel around his hips and used a bar of soap to make a lather, then smeared it across his face. He took another towel and wiped the fog from the mirror.
Captain Cal Remington stood behind Goose.
Turning, Goose snapped to attention and saluted. “Sir.”
“As you were, Goose,” Remington said. “It’s too early in the morning for the dog-and-pony show.”
“Yes, sir.”
Remington made a show of examining the small razor nicks on Goose’s neck. “Are you shaving or attempting suicide here, First Sergeant?”
“Shaving, sir. Haven’t been able to get a new blade for a few days. And I like a close shave.”
“Remind me and I’ll give you some out of my personal kit.”
“Yes, sir,” Goose said, though he would never ask and they both knew that. But more than likely, Remington would remember and give the blades to him. Goose scraped at the lather with the dull blade and immediately opened up a cut on his chin.
“Those nicks are going to show up on the television cameras,” Remington said.
“I don’t plan on doing any interviews.”
Remington crossed his arms over his chest. “The last couple days, you seem to have done a number of them.”
Goose met Remington’s gaze full measure in his reflection in the mirror. In a way it was almost like looking back at himself. “I haven’t intended to, sir. Your open-arms policy with the media has brought a lot of them my way. If you want, I can start avoiding them or sending them away.”
“No.” Remington looked like he’d swallowed something unpleasant.
Goose knew that Remington couldn’t tell him that. Or wouldn’t. It would appear to too many people that Remington was jealous of the attention Goose was getting.
“Rescuing those women seems to have gotten you the most attention,” Remington said.
“I didn’t plan on it, sir.” Goose took a couple swipes along his face, removing beard and lather. Both of them knew that was as close as he’d ever come to pointing out that Remington hadn’t let him know the women were there.
On the other hand, Remington had never admitted prior knowledge to their presence.
“Have you talked to the women, sir?” Goose asked.
“No.”
“I think you should.”
“Why?”
Goose rinsed soap lather from his razor. “When they were kidnapped here in the city by the Bedouin guy—”
“Abu Alam?”
Goose nodded. “They said they thought a guy was there who was an American soldier.”
Interest flickered in Remington’s eyes. “Why would an American soldier be there?”
“That’s what I was wondering, sir.”
“Do you believe them?”
“Yes, sir. They’re telling that story on CNN right now.”
“That an American soldier was present during their kidnapping?”
“Not during the kidnapping, sir,” Goose said. “During the trading that went on inside the city.”
“Can they prove that?”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s your interest in their story, First Sergeant?”
“If there really was an American soldier involved, somebody who was trading with Abu Alam, I was thinking we might want to check into it.”
“Why?”
“You look around this city, sir, and you’ll find that most of the American soldiers here are under your command.”
Remington bridled. “Are you insinuating something here, First Sergeant?”
“No, sir,” Goose answered, though the description he’d gotten put him quickly in mind of Corporal Dean Hardin. He didn’t want to get into that. Not yet.
“Then what?”
“Damage control, sir.” Goose scraped more whiskers away. “If the media buys into their story, maybe they’ll start buying into the story that Abu Alam—who is still missing—was kidnapped by American soldiers. That could bring a lot of unwanted pressure to this command, sir. You get people with cameras out there everywhere, and the Syrians have television and satellite access, we could end up showing more of our defensive and offensive capabilities than we intend or want to.”
“That’s a good point. I’ll take that under advisement.”
“Thank you, sir.” Goose shaved for a while, knowing something else was on Remington’s mind, but the captain hadn’t gotten around to it. He opened up yet another nick that streamed scarlet.
“Goose,” Remington said, “I want to ask you something.”
“Yes, sir.”
“In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never lied to me.”
“No, sir.”
Remington paused. “Do you think you would ever feel compelled to lie to me? Do you think there would ever be anything—or anyone—that you would lie to me about?”
Goose nicked himself again, cutting deeper this time because he was thinking that Remington had found out about Icarus.
“You have to watch out for that razor,” Remington cautioned.
Goose washed the blood away, finding that with the addition of water the cut bled even more profusely.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Remington pointed out.
Goose looked at the captain in the mirror. “I don’t know, sir.”
Remington was silent for a time. “There was a time when your immediate answer would have been no.”
Silently Goose concentrated on his shaving. There was a time, sir, when you wouldn’t have sent me into a mission without all the knowledge I needed, or with the intention of leaving me behind at the first sign of trouble. But he didn’t speak any of that.
“You see, I sensed that, Goose. Somehow we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I guess as we progress through this situation we have here in Sanliurfa, I’ll have to be careful what I talk to you about.”
An explosion suddenly shook the showers, rolling thunder into the room.
Remington was out the door while Goose was grabbing his pants and his M-4A1. He ran out into the street dressed only in his pants, his dog tags thudding against his chest, and his assault rifle in hand.
The showers were right across the street from Baker’s church. Where the church had stood, though, only bits and pieces of the tents and the ammo cases remained. A huge crater had opened in the ground, and flames danced in it as if it were some express tube to hell itself.
“It’s Baker!” someone yelled. “He’s over here!”
Goose ran barefooted, keeping up with Remington.
Baker lay facedown on the ground. Burn splotches showed over his body and smoke curled from his hair.
“What happened?” Remington demanded.
“Don’t know, sir,” an ashen-faced corporal answered. “Baker asked everyone to leave the tent about twenty minutes ago.”
“No one was in there with him?”
“No, sir.”
Goose’s mind automatically jumped to the fact that Baker had held on to the information Danielle Vinchenzo had gotten from her cryptic source. OneWorld NewsNet had called her away on assignment before Goose had returned from Operation Run Dry.
Gently, Goose turned Baker over. He’d already checked the man’s carotid artery and found no pulse. But his fingers had come away crimson with blood.
When Baker was on his back, everyone could see that his throat had been slit from ear to ear.
Shaken, Goose squatted down, ignoring the painful bite of his injured knee, for a closer look. “No,” he said. “He couldn’t have been in there alone. He didn’t cut his own throat. Someone murdered him.”