by Mel Odom
Before she knew what she was doing, Danielle shouted, “Look out! There’s someone on the roof!”
The Bedouin man turned and brought his rifle to his shoulder. Other Bedouins beside the building stepped into view and brought up their weapons as well. Staring down the muzzles of the weapons, Danielle was convinced she was only a heartbeat away from death.
Then someone hit her broadside and knocked her back and down. A shadow fell across her, blotting out the morning sun and creating an instant barrier between her and the Bedouins.
Even in profile, with the buttstock of the M-4A1 blocking part of his face, Danielle recognized the soldier.
Goose.
18
United States 75th Army Rangers Outpost
Harran
Sanliurfa Province, Turkey
Local Time 0733 Hours
Standing over Danielle Vinchenzo, Goose leveled the M-4A1 and fired by instinct. Instead of using the assault rifle, he pulled the trigger on the M-203 grenade launcher mounted under the rifle barrel. The 40mm grenade thumped from the launcher and struck in the middle of the Bedouins.
Knowing he’d be fighting at close quarters around his own men, Goose had loaded a high-explosive round in the launcher’s chamber instead of an antipersonnel grenade. The area of effect would be reduced, and the likelihood of hurting a fellow soldier—if he used the weapon judiciously—was reduced. He felt certain the thick mudbrick walls would protect the Rangers inside the house.
The HE round exploded and flung five Bedouins backward. The lead man who had taken the brunt of the detonation was dead, his chest and face almost obliterated.
The Bedouin on the rooftop tried to keep his weapon on target. Rounds chewed into the mud bricks beside Goose. At least one of them ricocheted off his Kevlar vest and drove some of the wind from his lungs.
Forcing himself to remain standing and alert, Goose pulled the M-4A1 toward the Bedouin and slid his finger over the carbine’s trigger. He stitched a three-round burst from the Bedouin’s right hip to his left shoulder. The man stood for just a moment, then toppled from the roof.
By that time the Bedouins on the ground had semirecovered. They fumbled for their weapons and brought them up as Goose fired the M-4A1. The bullets chopped two of the Bedouins down, but two others escaped.
“Falcon Eleven.” Goose had to force the words from his mouth as his lungs labored for air. The run and then the ricochet had left him short of breath.
“I’m reading you, Sarge.”
“You got two hostiles in your twenty. I’m right outside. How are you?”
“Got a man down, Sarge. He’s leaking all over the place. I’ve been hit.”
“Affirmative. You sit tight, and I’ll come get you out of there.” Goose looked back at Danielle.
The reporter lay sprawled in the dirt, just now getting her breath back. Dirt covered one side of her face. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.
“That was a brave thing you did, ma’am, but you need to stay back now. This is going to be bloody.”
Danielle nodded.
Staying low, the carbine held across his body, Goose sprinted across the open space. His knee ached but held together. The sounds of the battle and the approach of the Syrian heavy armor echoed all around him. The sun beat down on him unmercifully.
Somewhere ahead of him, at least two hostiles were in motion, and the close-set houses were a rat’s warren.
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 0034 Hours
Aching inside, Megan watched the video footage of the battle in Harran. She hated how helpless she felt while Goose laid his life on the line.
The picture was tagged with a slug line at the bottom: Live Feed from Special OneWorld NewsNet Correspondent Danielle Vinchenzo.
On the television screen hanging from the ceiling in the break room, Goose went forward into the mass of bodies that had been scattered by his weapon. The camera followed his movement, and the swaying camera motion only added to the sick feeling churning Megan’s stomach.
“You just hold on to yourself, girlfriend.” Evelyn threw her arms around Megan and held her fiercely. “That man of yours is savvy. He knows what he’s doing.”
“I should be there.” Megan’s voice was hoarse. “I should be there. Not here. Those men over there, they don’t have anybody. With the situation being what it is, they’re not going to come home anytime soon. The Bible talks so much about the final battle being fought in the Middle East.” She shook her head and fought her tears. “That’s where they’re going to serve until this thing is finished.”
“You don’t know that.”
Goose kept moving forward till he disappeared around the house.
Danielle Vinchenzo, captured in the camera’s eye, waited a moment. Then she grabbed the cameraman’s sleeve and pulled him forward. From the erratic movement of the camera, it was easy to see that his compliance was anything but willing.
“I do know that.” Megan tried to hold on to that last view of Goose. “Those men are going to be there. As long as they’re able to fight. The Holy Land is going to be the eye of the storm.”
“Megan’s right,” one of the other women gathered in the break room said. “When the Antichrist comes—and he will—events are going to unfold over there that are going to bring about the end of days. It’s all in the Bible. All you have to do is read it.”
“That doesn’t mean those men are going to be the ones stuck over there.” Evelyn remained stubborn.
“They will be,” Megan said. “The Rangers are always put in the line of fire.” And she couldn’t imagine Goose stepping away from the duty he’d sworn to see through.
“We should be there,” a young woman said. Tears ran down her cheeks as she watched the television.
Megan looked at the woman, whose words echoed her own thoughts. They should be there. Those of them that still had family members in Turkey should be with them.
Gunshots cracked through the television speakers. Megan jumped. Evelyn tightened her grip and offered soothing encouragement.
I should be there, Megan thought and felt guilty that she hadn’t realized that before.
United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 0735 Hours
Cal Remington watched the action on the television feed that had opened on one of the computers. Danielle Vinchenzo’s reports from ground zero couldn’t be ignored. The fact that she was, again, so close to Goose—like a bad penny, Remington couldn’t help thinking—displeased the captain. But the intel she was sending back about what was taking place in the city was valuable.
Remington was torn as he watched Goose move carefully through the ancient city’s narrow streets. On one hand, it would have been easier if Goose were killed or medevaced out. The schism that was starting to pull the Rangers in two directions would heal. Or at least not be exacerbated.
The problem was that Goose was also the one man Remington knew he could count on to get the job done when the chips were down.
“Captain Remington,” one of the security team said from behind the captain.
Remington answered without turning around. “Busy, soldier.” He watched Goose sweep the alley with his assault rifle, then glance back at Danielle Vinchenzo and wave her away.
“Yes, sir,” the guard said. “But CIA Special Agent Alexander Cody says it’s urgent that he speak with you at this time.”
The CIA section chief’s name grabbed Remington’s attention immediately. Cody was a dangerous man. He was also a direct conduit to Nicolae Carpathia.
Remington nodded. “Bring him forward.”
“Yes, sir.” The corporal spun and trotted back.
Remington kept his attention riveted on the television broadcast and computer monitors relaying the live video feeds from other news network and satellites. He glanced at the Syrian cavalry leaving a line of dust in the terrain. They’d fe
d up the main highway from Syria, then spread out into the foothills.
“Lieutenant Archer.”
“Sir?” The lieutenant turned from the marker board where he was doing the latest update.
“What’s the ETA on the Syrian forces?”
“Minute, minute and a half, sir.”
CIA Section Chief Alexander Cody stepped into a position next to Remington. The agent looked tired and worn. Under the baseball cap, his short-clipped black hair seemed to have gone grayer at the temples. Wraparound sunglasses masked his eyes. He wore a light Windbreaker over khakis and a white golf shirt. Combat boots completed the ensemble.
“Captain.” Cody’s voice was a dark rumble.
“I take it you weren’t looking forward to this meeting,” Remington said.
Cody’s answer was unflinching. “No.”
Remington glanced at the wave of advancing Black Hawk helicopters on one of the computers and raised his voice. “Lieutenant?”
“Sir?”
“Where are my helos?”
“Four minutes out from Harran, sir. Making good time.”
“Com.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Open a frequency to Black Angel.”
“Roger, sir. You’ve got a frequency … now.”
“Black Angel Leader,” Remington greeted, “this is Base.”
“Affirmative, Base. Black Angel Leader reads you.”
“I appreciate the haste. Those men there at the site will appreciate it more.”
“Affirmative, Base. Looking forward to spreading the love with those hostiles.”
“The Rangers there have orders to pull out shortly before your arrival.”
“Understood, Base.”
“Those Rangers need your support to effect a successful exfiltration. Equally important, we need to damage as much Syrian hardware there as we can.”
“We’ll do our best.”
“I’m counting on it. Good luck, Black Angels.” Remington glanced at the television feed again and watched Goose for a moment. “Now, Section Chief Cody, what brings you back to my watch? The last I recall, we weren’t exactly on speaking terms.”
“Since your sergeant wrecked my communications site, I haven’t had much cause to be exactly trusting of you.”
“Right back at you.” Remington didn’t look at the man.
“If I hadn’t been ordered to work with you, I wouldn’t be here.”
Remington smiled cruelly. “Just because you’ve been ordered to work with me doesn’t mean I’m going to work with you.”
“You will.” Cody sounded far too sure of himself.
“Why?”
“Because we share the same mysterious benefactor.”
Nicolae Carpathia. The name hung between Remington and the CIA man like a weeping sore.
As if on cue, Remington’s sat-phone vibrated. He hauled it from his BDUs and checked caller ID. Nicolae Carpathia showed on the viewscreen. The number was in New York. Remington knew Carpathia had recently been appointed as leader of the United Nations.
Feeling a little nervous, Remington flipped the phone open.
“Remington.”
19
United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 0737 Hours
“Good morning, Captain Remington,” Carpathia greeted in his warm, ebullient voice. He made it sound like he’d waited hours just to speak with Remington, as if the captain were the most important person he’d speak with all day.
“Good morning, sir.” Remington resented the fact that he had to kowtow to the man, but there was no one else in the world who could give him what he needed to keep his efforts alive in Sanliurfa.
“I can see by the news that your people have their struggles cut out for them in Harran.”
“Yes, sir. We’re doing our best to work it out.”
“Excellent. I have the utmost faith in you.”
Just those few words suddenly lifted the weariness from Remington’s shoulders. He felt better than he had in days. “Thank you, sir.”
“I believe you are also aware of my appointment to United Nations secretarygeneral.”
“Yes, sir. Congratulations.” Remington still couldn’t believe how quickly that change had taken place. Carpathia had only come to New York to talk about all the disappearances and urge the world to work together. The previous secretarygeneral had stepped down, and Carpathia had been voted into office.
“We have not had a chance to talk since a few days after the disappearances around the world took place.”
“No, sir.” Although Remington was conscious of the clock ticking down as the helos neared Harran, and although normally he wouldn’t have allowed anything to distract him, he was strangely calm while listening to Carpathia.
“I regret that,” Carpathia said.
“So do I, sir.”
“I will make certain that so much time is not allowed to pass in the future.”
“I’d appreciate that, sir.”
“In the meantime,” Carpathia said, “I would like to make a request.”
“Anything.” The answer was out of Remington’s mouth before he knew he was going to say it.
“I know that you and Section Chief Cody do not exactly see eye-to-eye on things there.”
That’s putting it lightly, Remington thought. He didn’t like the CIA section chief playing in his backyard without letting him know what was going on.
“However, Section Chief Cody has a problem—one that involves you—and I fear he has no one else to turn to in order to rectify it.”
Remington nodded. “I’d be happy to help.”
“Good,” Carpathia enthused. “Is Felix taking care of you?”
“Yes.”
“I am glad the two of you are getting along so well.”
“Yes, sir.”
The clock on the helos’ ETA now read fifty-two seconds. Remington watched the digital readout dropping numbers in heartbeats.
“I will be making some changes in the UN,” Carpathia went on. “Most of the changes will involve restructuring various military components around the world in order to bring everyone together. I take great pride in telling you that you and your men will be the beneficiaries of that restructuring very soon now. You just need to stay alive for a short time longer.”
“That’s our intention, sir.”
“Let me know if I can be of any further assistance in the future, Captain. I expect our partnership to encompass a long life and many successes over the coming years.”
“I’m glad you think that, sir.” Remington was surprised to learn how glad he actually was.
Carpathia said good-bye and hung up.
Remington folded the phone and dropped it back into his BDUs.
“Our benefactor?” Cody asked smugly.
“Yes.” Remington squared his shoulders. “What do you need?”
“Icarus.”
That was the code name of the mysterious agent the CIA had been trying to intercept since shortly before the Syrians’ initial attack. Remington hadn’t been able to learn much about the man. Icarus had infiltrated a terrorist organization called the Kurdistan Worker’s Party. The PKK had been set up to liberate an independent Kurdish state within Turkey.
To draw further notice to their goals, they’d decided to assassinate Chaim Rosenzweig, an Israeli botanist who had invented the synthetic fertilizer that had turned Israel into fertile ground and made that country rich almost overnight. Icarus had managed to foil the assassination plot, but his cover had been blown. He’d been marked for death and captured. Goose had taken a team and managed to intercept the terrorists before they’d gotten away.
Since that time, Icarus had been on the run. For reasons known only to him, he’d chosen to strike up a relationship with Goose.
“Icarus is your problem,” Remington said.
Cody pushed out an angry breath. “Icarus is a problem for all of us. Nic
olae wants the man caught and disappeared.”
The idea of killing the man didn’t bother Remington. “Again, that’s your problem. Not mine.”
“I wish that were true.” Cody sounded genuinely saddened by the turn of events. “From what we’ve been able to ascertain, Icarus is no longer here in Sanliurfa.”
“Then I can’t help you.” Remington watched the screen. The Syrian tanks and APCs had reached the town’s limits. He raised his voice. “Falcon Leader, this is Base.”
“Go, Base. You have Falcon Leader.” Swindoll sounded rattled.
“Begin your withdrawal. Quickly as you can. Evac the wounded by air. Get the rest of your people out of there by convoy. The Black Hawks will provide cover.”
“Affirmative.”
“You’re going to have to help me,” Cody stated quietly.
“You just said Icarus isn’t here,” Remington reminded.
“He isn’t. He’s in Harran.”
Remington kept his face impassive with effort.
“We suspect that he’s trying to seek out your first sergeant again.”
“Why?”
“Because I had a team on First Sergeant Gander, in case of this eventuality. They spotted Icarus this morning and contacted me.”
“Then why don’t they bring him in?”
“After repeated efforts over the last forty minutes, I haven’t been able to reach them.” Cody pursed his lips and looked like he’d bitten into a lemon. “I’m fairly certain they’re dead.” He nodded at the screen. “Given that the Syrians are about to be in possession of Harran, I figure your people are likely the last chance I have of getting Icarus back.”
Remington stared at the destruction overtaking the ancient city. Tanks and APCs plunged through houses and buildings. Infantry jogged behind the mechanical behemoths. Other computer monitors offered views of the Rangers retreating through the streets in vehicles and on foot. Survival had become a deadly footrace.
“Do you really expect me to find Icarus in that?” Remington asked.
“You’re the best chance I have, Captain. That city is sinking. Icarus is going to be like any other rat. He’ll try to find a way out to safety. Circulate his image. Let’s see if he pops up.”