by Mel Odom
“Drifter Two,” Goose called as he scrambled to the rear of the truck.
“Reading you five by,” Donner radioed back.
“Swing around behind the convoy and let these boys know you’re here.”
“Affirmative.”
Goose caught hold of the support bar across the opening and flipped across, stepping backward into the cargo area. He’d organized the way the payload was distributed before they’d left the post. He knew where everything was.
The dead bodies of the two Rangers who’d been assigned to the payload area rocked restlessly with the sway and jar of the cargo truck. For a moment, the sight of them held Goose in his tracks. Both of the men had been young. Losing soldiers under his command hurt, and lately he’d lost a lot of them.
Get your job done. You can grieve later.
He stepped over the dead men and used a penflash from the pocket of his BDUs to make certain of the crate he wanted. When he found the equipment crate he was looking for, he slung his rifle and opened the crate. He reached inside and took out an SMAW.
Using the Israeli B-300 Shoulder-launched Multipurpose Assault Weapon as a model, the United States Marine Corps had originally fielded the SMAW MK153 Mod 0 for use against tanks and heavily fortified installations. It had proven effective time and again. During Operation Desert Storm, the U.S. Army had used some of them. Impressed with the performance of the SMAW, the army had continued to borrow the marine weapons while in the Middle East, and the Rangers had a cache of them along the border for use against the Soviet-made tanks the Syrian army fielded.
Goose slammed an 83mm rocket home in the launcher, then swung around to the rear of the truck. Crain was hanging upside down over the opening.
“Thought maybe you needed a hand,” Crain said.
“I got it.” Goose stepped through the opening and put a foot on the truck’s bumper. He slid to the side of the truck, swaying along with the vehicle’s bumping, then shouldered the weapon and aimed it back toward the jeeps in front of the Hummer.
“Weapons upgrade?” Crain asked.
Goose took aim through the scope and centered the crosshairs on the lead vehicle.
“Just a little video game humor,” Crain said.
“I’m not much into video games.”
Crain’s rifle barked again and again.
Donner led the Ranger vehicles in a close sweep behind the cargo trucks. Goose saw them edging into view. The bandits spotted them as well and pulled away from the trucks.
The rocket launcher was overkill in this situation, and Goose knew it. But he thought about the village Niyazi had attacked and all the dead victims and wounded that had been left behind, and his heart hardened.
You’re not just taking out the bad guys, he told himself. You’re sending a message tonight. And that message is, you don’t mess with United States Army Rangers.
He squeezed the trigger, and the rocket leaped into flight. It shot across the hundred yards of distance and slammed into the rear of the lead jeep. In a blink, the jeep became a fireball that bounced erratically across the broken ground. The explosion sounded loud and definite. The flash was incredibly bright in the darkness, and Goose felt the heat wave a hundred yards away.
Crain cheered his approval from on top of the cargo truck. “Hit ’em dead center, Sarge! Yeah!”
Goose lowered the weapon and shoved it back inside the payload area. The two surviving jeeps veered off and headed away from the convoy.
“Looks like they’ve decided to cut their losses and run,” Donner said.
“Let them,” Goose said.
“We can still take them.”
Goose thought of the two dead men lying in the back of the truck and knew there were probably more. Guilt over leaving the convoy weighed on him.
“Taking them out isn’t going to bring our dead back,” Goose said. “And chasing after them will only split our forces again.” He fully expected Remington to chime in with a comment then and was surprised when the captain didn’t. “We stay together and finish this run. Besides that, those men will know they were lucky to survive tonight. They’ll tell their buddies, and maybe next time they’ll think twice about trying to hit one of our convoys.”
United States 75th Army Rangers Outpost
Harran
Sanliurfa Province, Turkey
Local Time 2219 Hours
The outpost was a skeletal affair that wouldn’t stand up against an armored cavalry attack. Then again, it wasn’t meant to. If everything worked right, the outpost was only going to be backup eyes and ears for the observation satellites the 75th currently had access to. Given the nature of everything that had happened these past weeks, Goose knew Remington didn’t want to depend on GEOINT while operations around Sanliurfa were pending. Geospatial intelligence gathered from satellite reconnaissance only worked as long as the satellite links were maintained.
Harran was a small village. All of the buildings were older and cheaply made, and none of them had any height to speak of. The Rangers had settled on the ruins of the Ulu Cami for their primary spotting base. Goose didn’t know how long ago the congregational mosque had been constructed, but it looked weathered and ancient. It was the highest point in the village. Someone had told Goose that the mosque had been built by the Ayyubids. When he professed ignorance, he was told they’d been a Muslim culture that had ruled a large empire from Egypt to Iraq in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. They’d been driven out of the area by the invasion of the Mongols.
As Goose swung down from the cargo truck, he reflected that wars had constantly been fought in these lands. What was going on now was nothing new. Blood had soaked this soil for thousands of years. Now it was getting a fresh supply donated by the United States Army Rangers.
The village’s strangest feature was the collection of beehive houses two klicks outside the main population area. The houses looked like footballs someone had shoved end-first into the hard-packed earth. Constructed completely of adobe, the beehive houses lacked even a wooden frame.
When the Syrians had invaded, most of the ethnic Arabs that lived in the village had pulled up stakes and left. They’d headed back into the harsher country in hopes that they’d be left alone. Some of those that had stubbornly remained had fled when the Rangers had occupied the village. Only a scattered few continued to live there.
“Goose.”
Turning, Goose saw Danielle Vinchenzo approaching him. Her cameraman was at her heels.
“I really don’t have time to speak with you right now, Ms. Vinchenzo,” Goose said. “I’ve got a lot to do here. If you want to talk about anything, we can discuss it later.”
Danielle looked like she wanted to argue. Then Crain and Martinez brought the first body out of the payload area. The reporter’s face softened, and she pushed the camera down.
“I understand,” she said. “I’m sorry. If there’s anything we can do to help, please let me know.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Goose said. “Some of these boys will be wanting something to eat. If you and your team could help out with seeing to the mess hall and give those folks there a hand, I’d be much obliged.”
“Of course.” Danielle turned and left.
Goose headed to the back of the truck to see how bad it was going to be. His headset beeped for attention. He knew it was the frequency he used to speak with Remington away from the public channel. He’d known the contact was coming.
“Goose,” Remington said without preamble.
“Yes, sir,” Goose responded. Although he and Remington had been friends for years, that friendship wasn’t going to be acknowledged at the moment.
“Leaving the convoy in unfriendly territory was stupid.”
“Yes, sir.” Goose had no other answer. Excuses didn’t cut it in the army.
“How many dead do you have?”
“Five. Nine wounded. Three of those are going to be out of commission for a while. I’ll know more when the docs get through with them.”
Remington cursed with skill. That was one thing Goose had to give the captain. When it came to a fullfledged dressing-down, nobody threw one with as much castigation as Remington. The captain had refined it to an art form.
“I’m running short of Rangers as it is, Sergeant,” Remington said. “I sure don’t have enough for you to squander needlessly.”
“No, sir.”
“I’m holding you accountable for those men.”
“Yes, sir.” Goose was already doing so. Remington’s jumping on the bandwagon didn’t add any real weight. But a formality did come with the captain’s assist.
“I’m going to be reviewing your actions tonight, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.” Goose knew that if they were lucky enough to get out of their present situation alive-and he had his doubts about that- he’d never spend a day the rest of his life without thinking about a lot of the decisions he’d made.
“For the moment, I want you to remand yourself to house arrest.”
“What?” Goose couldn’t believe that. Despite how the night had turned out, Remington couldn’t possibly mean what he’d just said.
“You heard me, Sergeant. Remand yourself to custody. I’m going to turn the convoy over to Corporal Donner. He can bring the men you didn’t kill back home.”
“Yes, sir.” Goose felt himself go numb and hollow inside. In all the years of their association and friendship, he’d never thought it would come down to this. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d at least let me help square things away here before I do that. These boys, they could use the help. Taking two hands and a strong back out of the equation right now ain’t an answer.”
Silence sounded loudly on the headset connection.
For a moment Goose thought he’d dropped frequency. It sometimes happened. He knew there was a chance Remington would order men to take him into custody by force.
“Get it done, Sergeant,” Remington barked coldly. “Then place yourself under house arrest. I’ll have Lieutenant Swindoll set aside a place for you.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“It shouldn’t have come to this, Goose,” Remington said. “You and I have been through a lot together.”
Goose didn’t say anything to that. It was the truth, but there was no accounting-at least in his book-for what was going on now.
“If anyone was going to stick by my side during a tough situation,” Remington said, “I would have always said it would be you.”
“I’ve always been there for you, sir.”
“Then why aren’t you now?”
Goose didn’t know. He thought he was, but Remington didn’t see it that way.
“Get that operation squared away, Sergeant,” Remington growled. “Then we’ll deal with what I’m going to do with you.”
“Yes, sir,” Goose said, but he didn’t get the reply out before the frequency clicked dead in his ear.
6
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 0539 Hours
Seventeen-year-old Joey Holder couldn’t sleep. The nightmares had been going on for weeks. He’d thought they would have weakened by now, but their hold on him seemed only to grow. Every time he went to sleep at night, he saw the old Asian man’s face again.
“What you two boys doing in my store?” the old man had demanded. “You boys no good boys. You thieves.”
He’d been old and frail and afraid. Joey knew that now. At the time, Joey had been so panicked himself that he couldn’t see anything but the pistol the old man held. He and Derrick, one of the boys he’d started hanging with after he’d left his house, had stood there frozen.
Derrick had a pistol too. They’d found it in one of the empty houses they’d broken into to spend the night. With so many people gone, that hadn’t seemed like such a big deal at the time. The world had been in chaos. Half the world thought the Russians or Chinese or even Islamic terrorists had perfected some kind of death rays shot from space. The other half was convinced aliens from another world had attacked the planet.
That’s what Zero believed.
When he thought of Zero, the fear inside Joey intensified. Zero was the most dangerous guy Joey had ever met.
That night in the mall, Zero had stepped from the shadows, leveled the. 357 Magnum he carried like some Old West gunfighter, and shot the man. Seated in front of the couch in his family home, Joey shivered as the thunderous roars filled his imagination again. He wrapped his arms around his knees and wished he didn’t feel so cold and alone.
Even with his mom in the house, sleeping just down the hall, Joey felt incredibly vulnerable. He wished Goose were there. Whenever Goose was around, Joey always felt safe. Not that his mom hadn’t tried to make him feel the same way, but there was something that had always been solid and dependable about Goose.
Until Chris was born.
Thinking of his younger brother, who had disappeared with all the other young kids in the world, Joey felt sad and more than a little guilty. When Chris came along-truthfully, even before then-Joey had gotten jealous. He’d even told his mom he wished Chris hadn’t been born.
Now Chris was gone, and Joey was afraid that he’d never see him again.
After all, if his mom was right and Chris had been taken to heaven by God, Joey wouldn’t see his little brother again. Only good people went to heaven, and Joey wasn’t a good person. He’d helped get that old man killed in the mall. He’d been where he shouldn’t have been, with guys he shouldn’t have been with, and in God’s eyes he was probably just as guilty as Zero.
The gunshots rang out in his memory again.
Joey put his head down on his knees and wept silently. He wished he could tell his mom what had happened that night, but he couldn’t. He was afraid if he did, she’d have to tell the police, and he’d be locked up for murder. Then he wouldn’t see his mom either. It was bad enough that Chris was gone and Goose was over in Turkey.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Joey thought his apology to God, but he didn’t know if God was listening. The Bible was full of forgiveness and redemption; Joey remembered hearing about that. But he didn’t know for sure how to go about getting it. He’d just figured he soaked it up by going to church. So these last few weeks he’d been going to church with his mom. He’d felt a little better, but nothing like what he’d hoped.
The kid sleeping on the couch shifted, and his hand thumped against the back of Joey’s head.
Angry at himself, at the kids who had invaded his home, and at everything that had happened, Joey shoved the guy’s arm back onto the couch harder than he needed to.
The kid woke up. He was thirteen or fourteen, a skater dressed in ragged pants and wearing a wild haircut.
“Sorry, dude,” the kid mumbled. “My bad.”
“It’s okay,” Joey said, though he didn’t mean it. He resented all the kids now living in his house. Their presence had been one of the reasons he’d left weeks ago.
The fact that so many of the newly orphaned kids on base had found their way to his house wasn’t surprising. His mom was a counselor. She already knew a lot of them. Military kids seemed to have lots of problems.
“I was having a nightmare,” Joey said.
“It’s cool. But if you’re having nightmares, dude, maybe you oughta find something else to watch. Zombie flicks ain’t exactly bedtime stories.”
Joey glanced at the television. He’d been channel surfing with the sound muted. Dialogue scrolled across the bottom of the screen.
The television showed zombies closing in on a building. They were torn and ragged, in various stages of decomposition. Their arms were stretched out before them.
The scrolling subtitles proclaimed, Brains! Brains! Eat brains!
“Yeah, I guess not.” Joey found the remote and changed channels.
“Hey, dude,” the skater kid asked, “do you think your mom is gonna fix breakfast today? Or do you think she’s gonna have us eat at the cafeteria?�
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“How should I know?” Joey replied. He flicked through the channels and hoped the kid would stop talking to him. None of the brats in the house seemed to get the idea that he wasn’t happy they were there.
“You’re Mrs. Gander’s kid. I thought maybe-”
“I’m seventeen,” Joey interrupted. “I’m not a kid.”
“Okay. Sorry. Anyway, since she’s your mom, I thought maybe she would have told you.”
“There’s a schedule on the refrigerator.”
“Oh.”
Joey tried his best to ignore the guy. He didn’t want to talk to any of the invaders. That wasn’t his job. That was his mom’s. She was so busy doing her job that she kept forgetting about him and his troubles.
“I like it when your mom makes breakfast,” the kid said. “It’s really cool.”
“Hey,” Joey said.
“Yeah?”
“Shut up, okay?”
“Dude, that’s really harsh.”
“I don’t care.”
“Whatever.” The kid rolled back the other way and pulled his blanket back over him.
Joey felt a little guilty, and he resented the emotion. He shouldn’t have to feel guilty in his own house. He tried to focus on the television and kept flipping through channels.
It was going to be dawn soon. When the sun was up, the nightmares seemed farther away. He couldn’t wait.
A news story on OneWorld NewsNet caught his eye. He recognized the reporter’s name: Danielle Vinchenzo. She was the one who was over in Turkey with Goose.
Fear tightened in Joey’s belly again. Goose was in some of the worst fighting taking place over there. Syria’s military hadn’t been as depleted as the American, United Nations, and Turkish forces by the mysterious occurrence. The dictator in Syria had attacked even before the vanishings had started, and he was keeping up the offensive.
Joey unmuted the TV so he could hear what the reporter was saying.
“-was the scene of a running firefight earlier,” Vinchenzo said.
Behind her, a ragged line of burning vehicles dotted the landscape. Black and gray smoke twisted up toward the purple sky. Camou-clad figures moved on foot through the burning vehicles. Joey didn’t know if they were American forces or Syrian.