by Mel Odom
The blue tint of the computer screen played over Remington’s face. His expression never changed, never offered her a clue as to what he was thinking.
“Play it again,” he ordered.
Danielle did. Then she played it twice more after that. The lowbattery warning flashed.
“There’s not enough power to run the video again,” Danielle said.
Remington didn’t say anything.
“Did you see Cody give the orders?” Danielle demanded.
Remington fixed her with his gaze. “I don’t know why this man would want Goose dead.”
“It’s not Cody. It’s Carpathia. Cody works for Carpathia.”
At that, Remington grinned. “You’re accusing the newly elected secretarygeneral of the United Nations of trying to kill a U.S. Army staff sergeant?” He shook his head in disbelief. “How much attention do you think this little conspiracy theory of yours is going to net you?”
Anger filled Danielle. She wanted to lash out at Remington. He was the only one in the city who had the power to act, and he wasn’t making a move to do anything.
“It’s not a theory,” Danielle said. “It’s the truth.”
“Cody didn’t say anything about Carpathia.”
“I’ve got proof that Cody works for Carpathia.”
Remington drew in a breath and let it out. Like he had all the time in the world. “Do you like your job, Miss Vinchenzo?”
Danielle hadn’t expected the question and didn’t know how to react to it.
“The reason I ask,” Remington stated calmly, “is because you’re about to commit career suicide if you try to go on the air with this.”
“Goose is out there,” Danielle said. “Doesn’t that matter?”
“Even if I believed your story, which I’m not entirely convinced of, there’s a lot of territory out there. Where would you suggest I start looking for him? And how do you suppose I keep the Syrians from killing him outright when I do?”
“Make Cody tell you.”
“Maybe you’re in a rush to throw away your career, but I’m not. I’ve worked long and hard to get where I am. I’m not going to jeopardize that.”
“I thought Goose was your friend.”
“That,” Remington said, “makes two of us.”
A soldier entered the bunker and drew an immediate scathing look from Remington.
“Pardon me, sir,” the soldier said. “I was ordered to bring you a message.”
“Then do it,” Remington snapped.
“It’s Goose.” The man smiled. “I mean, it’s First Sergeant Gander, sir. He’s alive.”
Danielle let go the tense breath she’d been holding.
“How do you know that?” Remington demanded.
“Because we’ve been in contact with him, sir. Sergeant Gander managed to signal one of the LADAR operators. They’ve been communicating through Morse code. He says he needs help to get back inside the city.”
42
Downtown Sanliurfa
Sanliurfa Province, Turkey
Local Time 2223 Hours
Like a bad penny, Remington couldn’t help thinking as he stood at the wall and surveyed the night-darkened ground through the gentle rain that persisted. He stood beside the LADAR operator and wondered where he’d be out there if he were Goose.
The night-vision binoculars picked the Syrian forces-the living and the dead-from the night. But where was Goose?
More than that, though, where were the killers Cody had sent? Remington knew they’d have no hesitation about killing anyone in the field they felt was affiliated with Goose.
Although Remington had ordered the news kept quiet, word of Goose’s survival and presence outside the wall quickly passed through the Rangers. Remington felt the pressure to act growing within him. Most of the men were aware of Goose. Some of them owed him their lives.
It was more than that, though. Corporal Joseph Baker had enthralled several of the soldiers with the promise of salvation. Those men-those weak-minded soldiers-had followed Baker blindly, and Remington felt that Goose was capable of furthering that kind of foolish devotion.
Remington didn’t intend to have to deal with that situation again. The men’s desperation had to be shored up in order to keep them thinking like soldiers.
But Goose was out there, and every Ranger around Remington was busy thinking the first sergeant was going to turn into John Wayne, Bruce Willis, or Arnold Schwarzenegger.
“Show me the communication,” Remington told the corporal manning the LADAR.
The device looked like a small version of a television camera on telescoping legs. The low profile made it hard for the enemy to spot.
“It’s the readout, sir,” the corporal answered. “Unless I move it around, we get a pretty constant readout. But a few minutes ago, Goose-Sergeant Gander-was able to ping the LADAR.”
“With what?”
“A laser range finder from an enemy gun, sir.”
Remington chuckled at that. That was Goose-inventive and ingenious under pressure. Remington realized again why he needed Goose alive at the moment and why having Goose around was going to be dangerous.
“He’s been using Morse code?” Remington asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“And you know Morse code?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How?” Other than a cursory introduction, most soldiers were no longer taught the antiquated skill. Everything on the battlefield these days moved in hyperbursts of encrypted transmissions.
“I was an Eagle Scout, sir.”
Remington looked at the young man and saw the innocence in his features. “Of course you were.” He had to give it to Goose. There probably weren’t many Eagle Scouts spread throughout the Rangers, and Goose had managed to find one who was operating a LADAR tonight. The sergeant’s luck was nothing short of incredible.
“Of course you were,” Remington said again.
The corporal clearly didn’t know how to react to that.
“Can you signal the sergeant?”
“Yes, sir. Unless something’s happened to him. But we haven’t heard anything.”
That didn’t mean that Cody’s mercenaries hadn’t slipped through the brush and slit Goose’s throat. Remington realized he hoped that hadn’t happened. He needed Goose if he was going to turn the battle at Sanliurfa into a victory.
And he fully intended to do that.
“Contact him,” Remington ordered.
“Yes, sir.” The corporal turned to the task. “You going to send a team after him, sir?”
Aware of all the eyes on him, from Danielle Vinchenzo’s to the other Rangers’, Remington knew there could be only one answer. He hated feeling the pressure, but he also knew that with one word he’d be painted a hero.
“Yes.”
“Thank God,” Danielle whispered. Several of the soldiers echoed the sentiment.
“You’ll need a team to go get Goose,” the corporal said. “I’m volunteering.”
“Noted, Corporal.” Remington looked out into the darkness.“But this is one mission I’m going to lead myself.”
Outside Sanliurfa
Local Time 2235 Hours
Goose watched the range finder’s digital readout increase and decrease as the LADAR painted it. He translated the Morse code in his head.
Remington here.
Yes, sir, Goose signaled back. There was a lot more he could have written. Confusion warred within him. He hadn’t expected to talk to Remington.
U R in a fix.
Yes, sir.
I’m coming.
Just like that, Goose felt a huge weight lifted from his shoulders.
He wouldn’t have put money on that outcome. The smart thing for Remington to do would be to provide a distraction and cover fire while Goose and his companions beat it for the city walls.
U OK? Remington asked.
Yes, sir.
Mobile?
Yes, sir.
All of U?
Yes, sir. All three.
There was a pause. How many hostiles looking for U?
Unknown.
Sit tight.
Yes, sir. Wearily Goose let out a tense breath.
“Are they coming?” Miller asked.
“Yeah,” Goose replied. “I talked to Captain Remington. We’re to sit tight until he signals.”
“Do you trust him?” Icarus asked. His gaze was flat and uncompromising.
The question brought Goose’s own inner turmoil to a head. “Yes.”In this, with so many Rangers watching, Goose did.
But if the circumstances were different? He didn’t know. That bothered him. He shoved the question from his mind. Concentrate on staying alive and getting back to your unit. That’s your job right now.
“Get ready,” Goose advised them. “When we start moving, there’s gonna be no looking back.” He turned to face the darkness again.
Local Time 2304 Hours
The rain slackened off. Water still ran on the muddy ground, but it didn’t have the same volume as before. Rain dropped steadily from the trees and brush where Goose lay concealed. With the night covering them, the water was cold and felt like it seeped into his bones. He shoved his injured knee into the mud and hoped the chill would numb some of the gnawing pain.
Evidently one of the more enterprising Syrian officers had decided to take advantage of the lull in the rain. Scout teams moved over the terrain, probably looking for new areas to dig in against the attacks they felt certain would come in the morning.
Or to prepare for the attacks they would launch themselves.
Things were going to continue to be bloody. Goose knew that and tried not to think of the lives yet to be sacrificed.
At 2308 hours, the laser range finder registered an incoming message.
In position. Have your six. Remington.
Goose took a deep breath and pushed himself up into a squatting position. His left knee screamed in pain. It had swelled so badly he had trouble getting it to fold properly under him.
“Get up,” Goose said. He readied his M-4A1.
Miller prayed aloud as he got to his feet.
Icarus stood without comment. His face was solemn, streaked with mud.
“We go slow,” Goose said, “until we have a reason not to.”
“Is there going to be some kind of signal?” Miller asked.
“When the bullets start flying, if you live long enough to see them or hear them,” Icarus said, “that’ll be your signal.”
Goose didn’t think he could have put the situation any more succinctly. “All right, let’s go.” He led the way, staying with the brush line as much as he could, not taking a direct path toward the city.
The enemy-all of them-would be watching for that.
Local Time 2310 Hours
Remington waited in the territory where he knew Goose was headed. Satellite recon had picked up Goose and the other two men coming through the trees on the southwest side of the city. There wasn’t much cover there, but it was enough. The Syrian scout forces kept trying to encroach from the southeast, where the trees were thicker. Snipers kept those efforts thinned out.
In a prone position, Remington lay with a sniper rifle resting on a bipod and took aim 517 yards away. He was good with the weapon, better than many of the men in his unit. And there wasn’t anyone he trusted more to make the shots he needed to make.
He swept the crosshairs across Goose, thought momentarily how easy it would be to erase that threat, then struck the thought from his mind. He could still use Goose.
Instead, Remington tracked the two men who crept up on Goose’s position. The captain slid his finger over the trigger and let out half a breath. Then he squeezed.
Local Time 2310 Hours
A warning tingle ran through Goose and let him know he was in someone’s sights. The warning was more instinct than physical, one of those skills that tended to vanish as men got more civilized about their killing. But he’d honed it on dozens of battlefields and trusted it completely.
Someone was ahead of them in the darkness, lying in wait in the scrub brush. And he had his sights on the three of them.
“Down!” Goose whispered hoarsely, twisting and reaching for the chaplain behind him. He caught Miller’s Kevlar vest and yanked him down just as someone ahead fired. The muzzle flashes were almost invisible in the darkness, letting Goose know the shooter was using a flash hider, and the sound was barely audible, signaling the use of a silencer. The bullet smacked against the Kevlar covering Goose’s back. If the armor hadn’t been there, the round would have cored through his heart.
Icarus cursed as he took cover behind a tree.
Goose placed his free hand on the back of Miller’s helmet and forced the man’s face into the mud. The chaplain’s first response was to try to look up, but Goose held him down. Goose lay still and held his assault weapon in one hand. He kept his head pressed against the earth and scanned the skyline.
In the next moment, a body pitched out of the darkness. A second passed, and another ambusher sprawled to the ground only a few feet away from the first. Goose didn’t know who the sniper was that had saved them, but he was grateful to be watched over.
Then the sound of both shots echoed over the immediate area.
Syrian soldiers yelled to each other not far away. Someone swung a spotlight in Goose’s direction. The light missed him by inches, but already Syrian troops massed to investigate.
“Time to go.” Goose grabbed Miller’s harness and yanked him to his feet. “Stay up with me. You slow down, we’re both going to die.” He ran, keeping his rifle forward.
He checked the first body he came to, wanting to make sure he wasn’t leaving a wounded enemy behind. He didn’t recognize what was left of the man’s face, but he knew he wasn’t Syrian. The battledress was black, and there were no markings. Goose took the extra magazines and moved on to the second man, all too aware of the Syrian troops dogging their trail.
The second man had been shot through the throat and lay drowning in his own blood. He tried to raise a pistol when Goose came up on him. Goose knocked the pistol away and it flew from the dying man’s hand. The man gasped once; then his gaze dulled.
Miller whispered something unintelligible behind him, but Goose ignored the chaplain.
The Syrian voices continued, and the spotlight pierced the night, swinging closer and closer. The bright yellow beam splashed across Goose once, and then gunfire erupted.
Almost immediately the yellow light winked out as the sniper scored again. Goose stayed focused on the intervening distance between him and the city. If they could close the gap, get inside the city, they’d be safe. His knee felt like it was shredding, coming completely apart. Everything the surgeons had done to it in the past was coming undone.
He pushed himself through the pain and kept running. He dragged Miller after him, and that put an even greater strain on his knee.
Bullets thudded into the ground around him. Icarus cursed as he ran. Miller prayed, reciting the Twenty-third Psalm in a jerky voice.
A trio of Syrian soldiers formed out of the darkness, stepping into Goose’s vision like ghosts out of the night. They swung their weapons toward Goose.
Aiming the M-4A1 one-handed while he dragged Miller with the other, Goose started a line of bullets at the knees of the man on the left and brought the rifle in a line across the men as he fired on fullauto. The first two men crumpled, but the assault weapon cycled dry before he could shoot the third.
Goose yelled inarticulately, anything to scare the man facing him. He never broke stride, not even with the trembling rattling through his knee. The joint felt spongy and loose, and he feared it was going to fail under him.
He lowered a shoulder and ran headlong into the man. They went down in a tangle of arms and legs. Miller joined them in the mud.
Then everything was madness. Goose scrambled for his life, unable to get to his pistol because the Syrian soldier grapple
d him and rolled him onto that hip. Abandoning the pistol, Goose went for his knife. He ripped the blade free, rolled his opponent over, held the man flat with his own body weight, and drove the knife home between the man’s third and fourth ribs.
Miller lay nearby, watching in stunned horror. “God help us.”
“You start out by helping yourself,” Goose said. “God takes over from there.”
Bullets tore at the earth. Icarus had dropped to a knee nearby and fired controlled three-round bursts at targets. A nearby Syrian tank lurched into motion. The turret spun around.
“C’mon.” Goose pulled Miller to his feet. “You stay here, that tank will mash what’s left of you into the mud.”
Miller started running.
With his knee throbbing painfully, it was all Goose could do to stay up.
“Goose!”
Remington’s voice came out of the darkness. Immediately Goose steered straight for it. His body hurt from exertion, and he was operating purely on autopilot, but his trust in Remington was there. In times like this, that had been one thing he’d always been able to count on.
But a small fear quavered through him, causing him to wonder if he was running into a bullet this time.
The tank got off a round that exploded several yards away. The concussion nearly knocked Goose from his feet. He steadied, put a hand on Miller’s shoulder to steady him as well, and ran harder.
The tank turret swiveled again as the gunner adjusted. A pair of Syrian jeeps streaked for the rendezvous point. In the next few seconds, all of the vehicles turned into whirling fireballs as the artillery lining Sanliurfa’s walls opened up.
Only a few yards short of his goal, surrounded by the heat of the explosions, Goose’s knee finally gave out. He felt it snap, felt the burning pain explode so fiercely that it almost swept his senses away. He went down at once, releasing Miller so the chaplain could keep running toward safety.
Instinctively Goose pulled his rifle up and looked around. Icarus was at his side, grabbing him by the arm and trying to haul him to his feet.
Shadows came at them out of the night. Goose recognized Remington at once.
“I’ve got to go,” Icarus said. “Maybe you trust your friends, but I don’t.”
Stunned and in more pain than he could ever remember, Goose heard Icarus’s words, but they sounded strangely distorted. Like he was speaking through water.