by Mel Odom
For a while Jenny had actually felt good about going to school. She’d looked good and been warm. Then the other kids, jealous of the attention from the teachers Jenny was receiving, found out where she’d gotten the clothes. They started making fun of her, referring to her as a “ghetto” child. Wearing the clothes and the coat had never been the same. It wasn’t until she’d gotten to junior high school and learned to make her own clothes that she started taking some pride in herself. And she’d never trusted that to anyone else.
“Thank you,” Jenny said.
“You’re welcome. Praying is the best thing you can do. You may not feel like you’re getting anywhere at first. I gotta admit, I didn’t. But praying for me was like talking to my mom. I talked to her a lot at first; then somewhere in there I started talking to God. He hasn’t quite started answering back. At least, not the way you think of conversation. But I’m starting to notice things. Guideposts. A feeling of the way things are supposed to be.” Tony shook his head. “I really can’t explain it any better than that.”
Jenny nodded, tried to think of a response, then gave up.
“What I’m telling you is, don’t be afraid of prayer. I think more people should be doing it. And if you stay with it, you might be surprised at what you learn.”
“Okay.”
“And if you ever need anything, Jenny, I’m usually around. Just let me know.”
“I will.”
“Light off or on?”
“Off, please.”
Tony switched the light off.
Jenny thanked him again and watched him leave. She looked back at her father. In the blue glow given off by the television mounted on the wall, Jackson McGrath looked like a specter swaddled in the hospital bedding. A feeling came over her that she was supposed to say something, but she had no idea what. Or to whom.
She glanced up at the television again. The anchor on OneWorld NewsNet was talking now. His words, printed in block letters, appeared and scrolled on the screen.
Jenny thought about calling Megan. She couldn’t imagine what her friend was going through at the moment with her husband’s life hanging in the balance in the middle of that conflict. Then again, when she stared at her father, she thought maybe she did know part of what Megan was going through.
At least Megan knows how she’s supposed to feel, God. Why don’t I?
25
United States 75th Army Rangers Outpost
Harran
Sanliurfa Province, Turkey
Local Time 0758 Hours
The sound of the heavy war machines tearing through the town assaulted Goose’s eardrums. He concentrated on the task at hand, putting one foot in front of the other as he carried the wounded Ranger on the door even though his knee felt like it was on fire. It was an exercise of will more than strength that got him to the noisily idling van next to the wrecked APC. Flames still danced along the top of the Syrian vehicle.
“Oh, man,” Gary the cameraman whispered as he stepped over one of the burned corpses. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“You’re not going to be sick,” Goose said. “Not right now. Don’t you drop this, man. If you want to be sick, you be sick later. Do you hear me?”
Gary swallowed hard and nodded.
“Breathe through your mouth instead of your nose,” Goose said. “The smell’s not as bad that way.”
Gary opened his mouth and breathed. Danielle did the same.
Goose pushed the makeshift stretcher into the back of the van and turned to the others. “I’m driving. Ma’am, you and the camera jockey are going to have to hold this man as still as you can. We’re going to be in a hurry, but this man can’t be sliding around back here.”
Danielle climbed in, followed by the cameraman. They sat on the floor of the cargo area on either side of the wounded Ranger and braced themselves.
“We’ll take care of him,” Danielle promised.
Goose nodded and shut the cargo door. “Corporal, you’re with me.”
“Yes, First Sergeant.” Rainier walked up on the other side of the van. “Man, this thing looks like it’s already put in its time in the trenches.” He pushed the barrel of his rifle through the hole in the windshield.
“As long as it moves, it beats walking,” Goose said. “Guess we’re going to find out how long it beats walking.”
After he slid behind the steering wheel, Goose found the seat belt and strapped in. Rainier had trouble managing the feat with one hand and Goose had to help. The fact that the interior was shot to pieces didn’t raise any hopes.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” Goose glanced back at Danielle. “Did this van have this much damage done to it when you found it?”
“No.”
“You got lucky.”
“Maybe I was just that good.”
“Yeah. That was probably it.” Goose couldn’t believe she hadn’t been killed or wasn’t a nervous wreck at the moment. He rapped a hand against the wire mesh that separated the cargo area from the cab. It bounced a little but felt secure enough. “Hang on.” The van snorted and backfired, then got underway. The heady aroma of the fuel-rich carburetor flooded the vehicle’s interior.
“Carb’s overloading,” Rainier said.
“Yeah,” Goose said. “I’ve been meaning to fix that.”
Rainier hesitated a minute, then looked over at Goose. “That was a joke, right?”
“Yep. Probably not much of one, but I figured we needed it.”
“It’ll be funnier when I tell it later.” The corporal paused. “I’ll be telling it later, won’t I, Sarge?”
“Yeah,” Goose said with more confidence than he felt. “You’ll be telling it.” His eyes swept the streets constantly.
“Goose,” Remington said.
“I hear you, Captain.”
“We’re only going to get the one chance at this, and it’s going to be dicey.”
“Yes, sir. I understand that. I’d also understand it if you chose not to risk a helo. One of those birds is worth a lot more than a handful of men.”
“Do you believe that?”
Not for a minute, Goose thought. But I’m not you, and you haven’t been you in a long time.
“If you were me, you’d move heaven and hell to make this happen.”
Remington’s sentiment surprised Goose. For a moment there, the captain sounded the way he had back when they’d come up through boot and the noncom ranks together. The feeling of friendship touched Goose deeply, though it was extremely confusing after spending the night in a basement under house arrest.
“He’s being broadcast live on television,” Danielle said from the cargo area.
Goose glanced at her in the rearview mirror, which sat crookedly on the broken windshield.
“I don’t mean to burst your bubble,” Danielle said. “I just wanted you to know what’s going on.” She indicated the earpiece she wore, letting him know she was still tied into OneWorld NewsNet’s broadcast. “They’re staying with us.”
“There are the helos.” Rainer pointed with his good hand.
The Black Hawks roared over the city. Outfitted with an External Stores Support System, a stubby wing protruding from each side of the aircraft designed for carrying weapons, the choppers looked a lot like mechanical birds of prey. With the weapons the ESSS carried, the helicopters were aerial dreadnoughts. Rockets and machine-gun fire strafed the Syrian armor south of Goose’s position. He headed north as fast as the van was able.
The helos drew fire at once, but they ducked and wove as gracefully as dancers. Door gunners manned M240H machine guns and blasted the Syrian helicopters that flew spotter support for the tanks and APCs.
“Pedal to the metal, Goose,” Remington urged.
The false note in the captain’s voice rankled Goose somewhat. It wasn’t like Remington to constantly use his name or provide cheerleading.
“The Hawks are loaded up with VOLCANOs,” Remington said. “They’ll buy you some br
eathing room, but not much.”
“Understood, sir.” Goose hauled on the wheel and cut a corner sharply. The transmission whined more than the bald tires did.
“What are VOLCANOs?” Danielle asked.
“They’re designated the M139 Volcano mine system, ma’am.” Goose shifted again, willing the van’s engine to summon more speed. “They can be outfitted to the helos. Those Black Hawks can lay down a minefield a kilometer long—that’s almost a thousand mines—in seventeen seconds. They’re antitank mines, but they’ll slow the Syrians down.”
“They’re not all antitank mines,” Remington said. “I had them mixed special. Every sixth one is antipersonnel. Just like back in the old days.”
“That’s not normal?” Danielle asked.
Even fleeing for her life, the woman’s curiosity seemed to consume her. Goose couldn’t believe it. “No, ma’am. Not since the first Iraqi war. In 1993, the decision was made not to use antipersonnel mines.”
“It wasn’t my decision,” Remington said.
“No, sir.”
“I’m giving you over to Corporal Reilly, Goose. He’ll feed you directions on where to make your evac.”
“Affirmative, sir. Thank you, sir.” From the corner of his eye, Goose saw the Black Hawks jettison their deadly cargo. The BLU-91/B AT and BLU-92/B mines were flat cylinders that tumbled for just a moment, then stabilized. A series of detonations sounded.
“Are they blowing up?” Danielle asked.
“No, ma’am.” Goose took another corner. “The mines come down in aeroballistic shells. When they hit the ground, they trigger.
The antipersonnel mine fires a squib that throws out eight trip wires.
Like a spiderweb.”
“Won’t they be seen?”
“They’re thin wires, ma’am, but, yes, they can be seen if they’re looked for.”
Fresh explosions sounded nearby.
Goose took one of the turns Corporal Reilly told him to take, again heading north. “But soldiers in a hurry—either running from a fight or running to one—won’t take time to look. Those Syrian boys, they’ll figure out what’s what in just a little bit, and they’ll ease up on the throttle.”
“You got a hiccup coming up here, Sarge,” Reilly said. He talked fast and sounded like an Easterner. “The Syrian line bulged ahead of you. You’re going to encounter stragglers.”
“No way around it?”
“Not at the rate the Syrians are coming in. That group is tracking the Black Hawk I’ve got coming to you.”
“Or they could be headed north, operating on old intel from the jets’ flyby. That’s where we had our helos stashed.”
“Roger that, Sarge. Either way, you’re in for a rough ride.”
Goose looked back over his shoulder at Danielle and the cameraman. “Get down. Flat as you can. Lie beside Private Johnson.”
“Why?” Danielle asked.
“You ever watch Western movies?”
“Occasionally.”
“Ever see Tombstone?”
“Val Kilmer. Kurt Russell.”
“Yep. Just imagine we’re them and headed into the O.K. Corral and the Clanton boys are already set up and waiting.”
“Oh.”
“You know,” Rainier said, “until now I always liked that movie. I don’t think I’m ever going to watch it the same way again.”
At the next intersection, Goose glanced down the street to the right. Syrian troops hovered around a pair of T-62 battle tanks. One of the tanks fired its main gun. The shell wobbled through the air in front of the van, and the distinct hum filled Goose’s entire world for that instant.
Rainier cursed.
Then the 115mm round struck a building on the other side of the street and blew up. Rock and mortar sprayed into the air and battered the side of the van. Windows shattered, and glass spilled all over Goose. He had his left arm up, blocking the barrage from his face, but a rock rolled under the van, got caught under the frame for a moment, and almost caused him to lose control.
“You still with me, Sarge?” Reilly asked.
“Barely,” Goose answered.
“For a minute, it looked like that one had your name on it.”
“You should have seen it from this angle.”
“Take a left. Let me get you away from them for a moment.”
“I’m all for that.” Goose pulled hard on the wheel and shot down the next street.
“Take the next two rights,” Reilly instructed. “Then go three blocks straight ahead; then take a left again. I got the helo touching ground just ahead of you.”
Goose glanced in his rearview mirror and spotted two Syrian jeeps racing in pursuit. They skidded around the corner, fishtailing on the loose debris from the wrecked building, and barely avoided wrecking against another building.
“Tell those boys in the helo I’m coming in hot,” Goose warned.
26
United States 75th Army Rangers Outpost
Harran
Sanliurfa Province, Turkey
Local Time 0803 Hours
Goose reached into his combat harness and took out a smoke grenade. He armed the grenade and whipped it toward the building on the corner as he prepared to make the turn. As he went around, the grenade unleashed a torrent of red smoke that partially masked the intersection.
The first Syrian jeep missed the turn and went too wide. On a direct course with the building on the other side of the street, the driver overcorrected and lost the vehicle. It skidded sideways for a moment; then the wheels caught in a pothole and on debris. The jeep flipped and went sideways.
The second jeep crossed bumpers with the first, swerved wildly for a moment, then made it through. It sped up again, quickly eating up Goose’s short lead.
“Corporal,” Goose said.
“I’m on it.” Because of his injured arm, Rainier turned awkwardly in the seat, but he got into position. He shoved his M-4A1 through the window and aimed behind them. He fired in short bursts, just the way he’d been trained. Return fire came from the Syrians and peppered the van.
Goose heard bullets whiz by his ears as he went into serpentine evasive action that made it difficult to watch the street and control the van. Then something struck him in the back with bruising force. He struggled to get the air in his lungs again, hoping the bullet hadn’t made it through his Kevlar vest. He pushed his panic aside and concentrated on his driving.
Two blocks farther on, Rainier’s bullets must have hit the driver or wrecked something in the steering column. The Syrian jeep pulled sharply to the left and planted into the side of a home. The mud bricks held for a moment, then buckled, and the jeep disappeared from view.
“Better to be lucky than to be good.” Rainier drew his weapon back into the van. He held the carbine between his knees and managed to feed in a fresh clip with his good hand.
“Sometimes.”
“Sarge,” Reilly said over the headset, “you got two hostiles coming up on your right side. We missed them in all the excitement.”
“What are they?”
“Jeeps.”
At the same time the corporal answered, the Syrian vehicles roared into the intersection. Both of them carried machine gunners on the rear decks.
Goose knew if he tried to brake or shift directions he’d expose everyone in the van to hostile fire that would cut them to ribbons in seconds. Instead, he kept the accelerator pinned to the floor and pulled his M-4A1 up to aim through the hole in the windshield before him.
The machine gunners took aim, but they were slower than Goose because they were still rocking to a stop. Driven by adrenaline, Goose steered the van toward the gap between the jeeps and hoped it was as wide as he thought it was. He fired the M-203.
The 40mm fragmentation grenade slammed into the windscreen of the jeep on the left. The shrapnel killed or seriously wounded the two soldiers in the front seats and swept the gunner from the rear deck.
Stunned by the explosion, the machin
e gunner in the second jeep hesitated. By the time he remembered to fire, he was aiming behind the van. As Goose passed between the jeeps, discovering that it was wider than he’d believed, he steered the van into the jeep, bumping it enough to knock the machine gunner from the rear deck.
“Oh, man,” Rainier said, “those machine-gun barrels looked huge.”
“At this end of them, yeah,” Goose agreed.
“Left, Sarge,” Reilly called over the headset. “There’s your left.”
“I see it.” Goose made the turn, but he knew something had gone badly wrong with the van’s front end. Either the rough road and high speed had finally gotten to it or the collision with the jeep had broken something. He barely made the turn.
The Black Hawk was just settling to ground in the large intersection two blocks down. A miniature dust storm rose around the helicopter.
“First Sergeant Gander, this is Sergeant Cooper Gordon. You’ll be flying the unfriendly skies with me today.”
“I remember you, Cooper.”
“Then come on ahead. Black Angel Eleven has got your six.”
Armed men deployed from the Black Hawk and prepared to bring the wounded man aboard.
“I got five with me counting the wounded man.” Goose screeched to a halt.
“Roger that,” the helo commander said. “We were on a hit-and-git mission to unload mines. We’ve got room to spare on the way back.”
The Black Hawk crew sprinted forward with a medical gurney.
When he got out of the van, Goose’s bad knee nearly went out from under him. He grabbed hold of the door and remained standing with effort.
“You okay, Sarge?” one of the Black Hawk crew asked.
“Just a little shaken up,” Goose answered. “I’ll be fine. Let’s take care of my soldier back there.”