by Mel Odom
How about it, God? Goose couldn’t help wondering. Am I closest to You? Or am I closest to death? Are those even separate things?
The rain fell in sheets now, whipping through the forest. Goose thought about what it would mean for the Syrian assault. Hopefully the heavy vehicles would be mired in mud and never reach Sanliurfa. At the very least he hoped the mud had slowed the enemy advance.
Remembering all his days in Sunday school, Goose thought about how often rain and water had played a part in the Bible stories. The parting of the Red Sea. The Flood. Baptism.
Does baptism count when you don’t really believe? Can you be baptized without really knowing God? Is that what I did? Sometimes in church he’d seen people get rebaptized as a testimony of renewed or restored faith. Others hadn’t been certain they’d really known how to accept salvation at the time they had.
Goose held on to his rifle and listened to the world around him. There was no noise other than the rain.
God, I don’t want to die out here. Not so far from my family. Not so far from my men. This can’t be what You have in mind for me. I know it’s not what I have in mind for me.
Goose couldn’t believe his thoughts. He’d prayed before, reflexive efforts that he’d learned as a child, but he’d never really tried to talk to God. Mostly because he’d figured if there was a God, He was probably pretty busy. And he doubted that God would concern Himself with one small sergeant in a world of trouble.
A branch, still too dry, cracked behind the tree less than ten feet away. The smoke had dissipated. Goose breathed more shallowly and waited. The next events were going to happen very fast.
A minute later, while rain dripped from the brim of his helmet, Goose saw the man ease forward in a duckwalk. He carried a rifle in both hands as he stepped toward the dead man lying only a short distance from Goose.
Goose moved his rifle into position. The small flicker of movement alerted the man. He threw himself backward and tried to bring up his weapon. Knowing his life was on the line and that it was better to be outnumbered two to one than three to one, Goose fired into the center of the man’s chest.
As Goose had expected, Kevlar armor blocked the bullet, but the impact drove the man backward. His boots churned at the loose mud created by the torrential rain and he couldn’t find traction.
Goose rose, knowing the hiding spot no longer concealed him. He took aim and put three rounds into the man’s face and neck. Coordination left the man, and he sprawled onto the ground. Blood mixed with the running water and mud.
Throwing himself from the tree, Goose ran straight ahead. He kept the tree between himself and the place where he thought the remaining two men were. A bullet smacked into the middle of his shoulder blades and probably would have killed him if he hadn’t been wearing his vest. He stumbled and nearly fell. His injured knee almost gave out on him, and pain scraped raw nerves. Agony racked the inside of his skull.
But he ran.
The large black man stepped out in front of Goose and pointed his rifle at him. In that instant, Goose realized they’d almost flanked him.
Knowing he hung suspended between life and death, Goose went down in a baseball slide only a few feet from the man. Goose’s knee screeched in protest as he folded it into the familiar figure 4 beneath him.
A line of bullets sprayed over Goose’s head. One of them ricocheted from his helmet. Then he slammed into the big man and took him to the ground. They rolled in a tangle of arms and legs. The man lost his weapon, and Goose struggled to bring his rifle to bear.
Shouting in a language that Goose didn’t understand, the big man pulled a machete from his hip and swung at Goose’s head while they were still both on the ground. Reacting instantly, Goose released the M-4A1 and grabbed the man’s wrist. It took everything he had to slow the man’s attack, but he couldn’t stop it. The keen edge came down toward his face.
“Now you will die!” the man said.
Goose focused on keeping the knife from his head. His arm quavered from the strain of holding the man’s arm back. Desperate, he bunched his fist and drove it into the man’s face again and again.
The man shouted and snorted in pain and rage. His eyes reddened as capillaries swelled and broke. His nose bled profusely.
Getting his leg up between them, Goose levered the man onto his side and crawled on top. In that position, with gravity helping, it was easier to hold back the man’s machete. Goose again hammered his fist into the man’s face, hoping his opponent would lose consciousness soon.
With a surge, the big man backhanded Goose in the mouth. The ache in Goose’s forehead from the collision with the tree reignited and pounded at his temples. Blood filled his mouth. The big man hit him again and succeeded in knocking him off.
Goose lost his grip on the man’s wrist and rolled as quickly as he could. The machete missed his legs by inches. Ignoring the pain in his knee, Goose got to his feet as the big man bared his teeth in a confident, angry grin and rushed at him.
Unable to move quickly without his knee giving out on him, Goose pulled his M9 from his hip, shoved the pistol forward, and fired. The first two rounds were wide of the target, and the next one thumped into the big man’s Kevlared chest. By then he was almost on top of Goose, already swinging the machete.
Goose fired four more times, and all of the rounds hit the man’s unprotected head and destroyed his features. The massive arm came down anyway. Stepping forward, feeling his leg go out from under him, Goose moved inside the swinging arm, felt it bang against his side so the blade missed him. He lowered his arm immediately and trapped his opponent’s limb. Then he twisted and fell, dragging the man down. On the ground now, Goose shoved the pistol into the man’s neck and pulled the trigger two more times.
The man shivered and went slack as life left him.
Running footsteps splashed across the muddy ground.
Goose heaved himself from the dead man toward the M-4A1. His hands found the grips even in the mud and the rain, with pain filling his head. For seventeen years, he’d carried a weapon like this rifle. It had been his constant companion. He was more familiar with it than anything else in his life.
The last of the mercenaries ran at him and opened fire. Unable to get to his feet because his knee wouldn’t hold him, Goose rolled onto his stomach with the rifle propped on his elbows before him. It was the basic position the army had taught him in boot, and it was the first position his daddy had taught him when he’d taken him deer hunting.
The man’s bullets dug holes in the mud beside Goose’s face. One clipped his helmet, and two others ricocheted from the body armor covering his back.
Goose sighted on the man’s face and pulled the trigger. The man stopped running and stood there swaying. A look of disbelief was frozen on his face. Goose fired again and the man’s head jerked back. Then he slumped forward on his knees and went face-first into the mud.
Not believing what had happened himself, Goose lay there and stared at the dead men around him. The rain came down harder, covering him in a gentle wash that cleaned him of the mud and the blood.
After he got his breath, he stood and walked, limping on his bad knee and trying to ignore the pain.
34
Downtown Sanliurfa
Sanliurfa Province, Turkey
Local Time 1039 Hours
Danielle covered her face with her hands and shoved her head down between her knees as glass from the fallen ceiling fan sprayed around her. Fragments pelted her, and she felt a few sharp stings on her forearms and the back of her neck. When the worst of it seemed over, she cautiously looked up again.
Pete had roped his arms protectively around the notebook computer on the table. He held his position for a few moments, then leaned back and studied the ceiling with some trepidation.
“You know,” he said, “I’m beginning to wonder if we should take this meeting down into the wine cellar.”
Shaking, Danielle studied the cuts on her bare arms. Glass fragmen
ts glittered on her clothing. She started to brush at it, then realized that she’d only cut up her hands. She took a napkin off the table and knocked the glass from her lap.
“If we go down there,” she said, “we’ll lose the Internet connection. We’re lucky we have it now.”
“Yeah, but part of me keeps wondering if the Syrians are using Internet hot spots as targets.”
The thought chilled Danielle. She swept her gaze over the people around them. She didn’t like thinking she was responsible for bringing death closer to them.
“That’s not what’s happening,” Pete said. “I didn’t mean to drop that on you. That wasn’t fair.”
Danielle nodded.
The screen pixilated again. This time the image reformed even sharper than before. She stared hard at the faces of the two men revealed in the video footage. The driver remained mostly hidden behind the glare reflecting off the windshield. The man on the passenger side of the vehicle held a rocket launcher over his shoulder.
Three-quarters of his face showed.
“That rocket launcher blocks a lot of his face,” Danielle said.
“We knew that when we started this. So did your friend. We all agreed that this was the best image we had.”
“I know.”
“If we don’t get anything from this photo, it’s not going to happen. And we’re lucky to get this much.”
Danielle glared at the image and willed it to give up its secrets. “Do those men look Syrian to you?”
Pete shook his head. “No. But that doesn’t mean they weren’t hired by the Syrians.”
“Whoever those men were, they singled us out. They knew which helicopter Icarus evaced on.”
“You’re assuming that.”
“It’s a safe assumption. No one else on any of those helicopters would have been a target.”
“What about you?”
“Me?” That thought hadn’t occurred to Danielle.
“Sure. You’re a reporter. OneWorld NewsNet. You’ve been hotdogging screen time out here, becoming the voice of the people of the free world. At least for American television.” Pete grinned sheepishly. “The Syrians might like the idea of taking out a significant member of the American press.”
Danielle hadn’t thought of herself in that way. It was flattering, she supposed. And maybe even a little true.
“You were doing spots from Harran,” Pete pointed out. “They knew you were there.”
“They wouldn’t hire an assassination team to come after me.”
Pete nodded at the image on the computer. “Like you said, those men don’t look like Syrian military. Somebody hired them. That’s why you wanted to take a closer look at them.”
Danielle knew that was true. But she’d also concentrated on the men because it was all she could do. Remington had given orders that the press were to stay out of the street and out of the way of his men. The Rangers had orders to take into custody any press members they found roaming and lock them up for the duration of the attack.
Many of the reporters felt certain that being placed under such “protection” would actually turn out to be a death sentence. All of them had cleared immediately.
Abruptly a line of script ran across the bottom of the computer screen.
Mystic:>TALK TO ME, MUCKRAKER.
Danielle slid forward, placed her hands on the keyboard, and opened up a chat application. She went immediately to a private room she’d arranged with Mystic.
Muckraker:>YOU THERE?
Almost immediately a response appeared on the screen.
Mystic:>YES. GLAD TO KNOW YOU’RE STILL ALL IN ONE PIECE.
Another nearby explosion shook the hotel.
Muckraker:>SO FAR. DOESN’T APPEAR HOPEFUL.
Mystic:>I’M WATCHING THE COVERAGE ON CNN.
Danielle knew that OneWorld NewsNet and others continued carrying the story through a few automated cameras set up throughout the city.
Mystic:>I SAW A MODEL REENACTMENT OF SANTA ANNA’S ARMY TAKING THE ALAMO. LOOKS A LOT LIKE WHAT YOU GUYS ARE GOING THROUGH NOW. VASTLY OUTNUMBERED.
Muckraker:>AREN’T YOU FULL OF GOOD CHEER.
Mystic:>WELL, AT LEAST I COME BEARING GIFTS.
Danielle’s heart leaped.
Muckraker:>YOU IDENTIFIED THE MEN IN THE IMAGE.
Mystic:>ONLY ONE OF THEM. BUT HE’S A BIG PIECE. I’M SENDING YOU A PACKET. LOG IN TO YOUR FTP SITE AND PICK IT UP. I SQUEEZED IT AND DRAINED IT. SHOULD DOWNLOAD FAST FOR YOU.
Danielle opened up another window and accessed the FTP client she had on the computer. Once activated, the program searched for new packages and found one immediately. She started the download.
Muckraker:>GOT IT.
Mystic:>YOU’RE GOING TO LIKE THIS.
Muckraker:>THE SHOOTER TIES BACK TO OUR CIA SECTION CHIEF.
Mystic:>IMPRESSIVE. PSYCHIC MUCH?
Muckraker:>NOT HARD TO FIGURE OUT WHO AROUND HERE WOULD HIRE AN ASSASSINATION TEAM TO TAKE OUT THE MAN ABOARD THAT HELICOPTER.
Mystic:>TRUE. THAT’S HOW I WAS ABLE TO TURN THIS SO QUICKLY. I HAD MY SUSPICIONS TOO.
Muckraker:>WHO IS HE?
Mystic:>GOT THE PACKET?
Danielle watched the last of the transfer take place. She opened it and saw thumbnail images pop up in neat rows. Some of the images were of people. Others showed newspaper stories and official-looking documents.
Muckraker:>LOOKING AT IT NOW. HIS NAME IS MARCUS ALLEN? REAL OR ALIAS?
Mystic:>EVERYTHING I’VE BEEN ABLE TO DIG UP SAYS THAT IT’S HIS TRUE NAME. GUY HAS A HISTORY. CAREER SOLDIER GOT BOOTED FOR PLAYING HARDBALL WITH PRISONERS. HE QUIETLY MUSTERED OUT AS THE HEAT STARTED TURNING UP. THEN HE STARTED HITTING THE MERCENARY SCENE. IT DIDN’T TAKE ME LONG TO FIND OUT HE’S ONE OF THE GUYS YOUR SPY GUY HAS GONE TO IN THE PAST. USUALLY FOR BLACK-BAG AND DIRTY-TRICKS ASSIGNMENTS. AND FOR ASSASSINATIONS.
Beside Danielle, Pete grimaced and cursed. “You know what? I didn’t think, given the fact that we’re getting bombed, that I could feel any worse. But this?” He shook his head. “Thinking these guys are still walking around out there gives me the willies.”
Danielle silently agreed.
Muckraker:>YOU’VE GOT EVIDENCE OF THIS?
She pulled some of the news stories up.
Mystic:>NO. I DON’T HAVE SOLID EVIDENCE. WHAT I HAVE WOULD NEVER MAKE A COURT CASE. BUT I DO HAVE SUBSTANTIVE. CONNECTING THE DOTS IS NO PROBLEM.
Danielle’s mind flew. If Goose was still alive, this man in the image—Marcus Allen, she thought, putting a name to the fear she felt—could still be alive also.
Mystic:>YOU NEED TO THINK ABOUT GETTING OUT OF THERE. THIS GUY MIGHT NOT BE THE ONLY ONE YOUR SECTION CHIEF HAS IN MOTION. I TRIPPED A FEW ALARMS GETTING THIS GUY’S INFO.
Muckraker:>NOT LIKE YOU TO BE LESS THAN GRACEFUL.
Mystic:>YOU CAN HAVE STEALTH OR YOU CAN HAVE SPEED WHEN IT COMES TO THESE THINGS. IT’S HARD TO ACHIEVE BOTH. SINCE THERE’S A BIG CHANCE THE SYRIAN ARMY IS GOING TO INVADE THAT CITY AT ANY MOMENT …
Muckraker:>UNDERSTOOD. CAN YOU KEEP WORKING WITH THIS NAME? MAYBE GET ME A LIST AND PIX OF KNOWN ASSOCIATES.
Mystic:>I CAN. I WILL. BUT IF THIS THING STARTS GETTING DICEY AGAIN, I’M ALL ABOUT DISCRETION BEING THE BETTER PART OF VALOR.
Muckraker:>I KNOW.
Someone had already tried to trace Mystic through Internet connections during an earlier investigation.
Muckraker:>TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF.
Mystic:>I ALWAYS DO. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?
Muckraker:>WHAT I CAN. SEE IF I CAN FIND THE SECTION CHIEF AND STIR UP TROUBLE. IF HE’S STILL IN THE CITY. HE’S GOT A HABIT OF DISAPPEARING WHEN THINGS GET REALLY DANGEROUS.
Mystic:>ACTUALLY I CAN HELP YOU WITH THAT TOO. I’VE BEEN TRACKING SOME INTERNET TRAFFIC COMING OUT OF SANLIURFA THAT’S NOT COMING OUT OF THE ESTABLISHED MIL-NET.
Muckraker:>MIL-NET?
Mystic:>MILITARY NETWORK. I’VE BEEN WATCHING SOME OF THE TRAFFIC GOING INTO AND OUT OF THE AREA THERE. FIGURED IF I COULD GIV
E YOU SOME EARLY HEADS-UP WARNING, IT MIGHT HELP.
“Wow,” Pete said. “I’m even more impressed.”
“He’s an impressive guy.”
Muckraker:>THANKS FOR THAT. I’LL BE MONITORING YOU WHEN I CAN.
Mystic:>COOL. I’VE GOT A COUPLE OTHER PEOPLE THAT I’M SHEPHERDING IN THAT PART OF THE WORLD.
Danielle’s curiosity came to the forefront immediately.
Muckraker:>ANYONE I SHOULD KNOW ABOUT?
Mystic:>…
Mystic:>SORRY. I’M TIRED. TYPED THAT BEFORE I THOUGHT. FINGERS WORK FASTER THAN MY BRAIN SOMETIMES. I CAN’T TALK ABOUT THOSE PEOPLE.
Danielle cursed. For years, Mystic had been a ghost. He’d never asked for anything, but he’d aided her from time to time with key pieces of information. She’d have given a lot to find out more about him.
Muckraker:>YOU SAID YOU KNEW WHERE I COULD FIND MY GUY?
Mystic:>YEAH. HE’S HOLED UP AT A HOTEL THERE IN THE CITY. LET ME GIVE YOU THE ADDRESS.
35
United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 1318 Hours
Hell descended on Sanliurfa. The war, snarling and blistering hot, ravaged the city and sucked the marrow from its broken bones despite the pounding rain. A few of the SCUD missiles the Syrians were firing had gotten past the Patriot defensive systems, and Remington felt the explosions shake the earth and quiver through his boot soles.
He stood at parade rest in front of the ops board and kept the battlefield in view in his mind even when the satellite systems occasionally failed and the screens went dark. Fear came at him harder then. His dependence on technology left him crippled and floundering.
It’s not me, Remington told himself, struggling for a calm, clear head. It’s war the way it’s fought now. Battles these days move too fast for an unaided man to keep up with. No one could adequately track developing fronts and unit strength without computers.