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.”
United States 75th Army Rangers Outpost
Harran
Sanliurfa Province, Turkey
Local Time 0736 Hours
Goose wished that Danielle and her cameraman had stayed back. Following him was dangerous. Then he realized that anywhere in Harran was dangerous for an American citizen. Even the people who lived in the town would be forfeit if the Syrians caught up to them.
“Falcon Three,” Swindoll called.
Goose didn’t respond. Two of the Bedouins still remained on the loose. He guessed that they would be listening for him.
When he reached the narrow alley ahead of him, he turned and looked down it. Nothing stirred, though the town seemed to vibrate with the rock and roll caused by the advancing Syrian cavalry. Then, from the corner of his eye, he caught movement in the house in front of him.
Goose whirled and hunkered down. His weak knee screamed in agony, but he somehow forced it to hold up under him. He brought the M-4A1 online and squeezed the trigger. Bullets ripped across the windowsill and through the thin curtains, where a rifle muzzle protruded. Rounds from the Bedouin weapon pocked the wall over Goose’s head.
The Bedouin tumbled backward without a sound.
“Goose!” Danielle yelled. “The rooftop!”
Glancing up, Goose barely made out another Bedouin atop the roof. Goose threw himself to one side just before bullets whipped through the space where he’d been. He fired again, emptying the carbine’s magazine in a final chatter of fullauto. The bullets stitched up the roof, easily piercing the thin cover, and tracked onto the Bedouin. The man lost his weapon and fell from the other side of the house.
Goose fed a new magazine into the M-4A1 and got up. It felt like a colony of fire ants had taken up residence in his knee.
“Falcon Three,” Swindoll tried again. “Goose.”
“Three reads you, Leader. I was sidetracked with a couple things.”
Goose limped forward and checked the two Bedouins. Both men were dead.
“We’re exfiltrating,” Swindoll said.
“Affirmative. I’ve got wounded here. I’ll get there when I can.”
Goose turned back the way he’d come. “Falcon Eleven, are you still with me?”
“Yes. I need help.”
“I’ll be there.” Goose walked past Danielle and the cameraman. “Ma’am, you two shouldn’t be here.”
Danielle didn’t say anything.
“Do you know where the airport is?” Goose asked.
“Yes.”
“Then get there. This town’s about to get turned inside out, and you don’t want to be here when it happens.”
“You’ve got wounded men back there.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll take care of them.”
“It’ll be easier if we take care of them.” Danielle fell into stride with him, easily catching up to him. His leg throbbed and felt unsteady.
“Ma’am-”
“The Rangers aren’t the only ones who don’t leave people behind, Goose. And if that’s the best you’re able to walk, you’re not going to be able to help those men much.”
Ruefully, Goose closed his mouth and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He kept the assault rifle across his chest as they went back to the house where Corporal Brett Rainier had holed up.
At the house, Goose held Danielle and the cameraman back from the window.
“Corporal,” Goose called.
“Sarge.” Rainier sounded weaker.
“Yeah. It’s me. Okay to come ahead?”
“Yes.”
Goose stepped through the door but kept the M-4A1 at the ready in case some of the Bedouins had made their way inside the building and were holding the two men hostage.
20
United States 75th Army Rangers Outpost
Harran
Sanliurfa Province, Turkey
Local Time 0738 Hours
Darkness and heat filled the house even with the windows open. If the windows had been larger, more light might have come in. As it was, they barely allowed light or a breeze.
The people who live here don’t stay inside much, Goose thought. They lived a lot like the backwoods people he’d grown up with in Waycross. There were a lot of houses back there that didn’t have airconditioning and got by on box fans.
Rainier and Johnson were hunkered down in one corner. Rickety, mismatched furniture occupied the small room, barely making a dent in the meager space. On the other side of the room, a small wood-burning stove had a hot surface that held cooking utensils.
The people who normally lived here were used to hard ways, Goose couldn’t help thinking. There were no pictures on the walls and no electronics.
Rainier was in his early twenties and had been in the Rangers for a couple of years. He was compact and neat, but his face was scruffy with whiskers, and his left arm was covered in blood.
Johnson was in worse shape. Blood saturated his abdomen and soaked his BDUs. He was black and gangly, no more than eighteen or nineteen years old.
Goose listened to Johnson’s raspy breathing. God help that poor boy.
“Hey, Sarge,” Johnson whispered. Both of his fists tightly clenched his shirt over his stomach. “I got shot.”
“You did, son,” Goose said, “but you’re going to be all right. We’re going to get you out of here.”
“I don’t want to die over here, Sarge.” A spasm racked Johnson. “I promised… my granny… that I wouldn’t die over here.”
“Promises to a granny are awfully important,” Goose said. “My granny would cut a switch if I ever didn’t do something I promised her I’d do.”
Johnson smiled. He was in so much shock that Goose doubted the young man felt much pain. He was just scared. “Then you know I can’t die over here,” Johnson said.
“No, sir. We can’t let you do that.” Goose listened for the approach of footsteps or vehicles. With all the noise outside, discerning either was problematic. He knelt beside the wounded man. “Let me see what we’re dealing with.”
Johnson didn’t let go of his shirt.
Goose laid his rifle to one side and pulled at the young man’s hands. He paid no attention to the blood on his hands. On this battlefield, in this moment, the threat of HIV was so far removed that he refused to acknowledge it. He didn’t know if any of them were even going to make it out of the town alive.
“You’re going to have to let go,” Goose said.
Johnson swallowed hard. “I’m scared to let go, Sarge. I’m afraid if I do, I’m gonna fall apart.”
“If you do, soldier, then I’ll put you back together.”
“Okay.” Johnson’s hands shook as he released the stranglehold he had on his shirt.
Goose palmed his lock-back knife and slashed the straps holding the Kevlar vest in place. “You doing okay, Brett?”
“Yeah. Bullet hit me in the arm, but it’s already almost stopped bleeding. Just numb.”
“That’s normal. Nothing to worry about. You alert enough to keep a lookout?”
“Yeah, Sarge.”
“Then help me do that.”
Rainier nodded and sidled over to the nearest window. “Hey, that reporter woman’s gone.”
Goose looked back to where he’d left Danielle and the cameraman. Danielle was nowhere to be seen. “Where’d she go?” Goose demanded.
“Said she’d be back,” the cameraman responded with a shrug.
“You let her go?”
“Hey, one thing I know about her since I’ve been working with her: once she gets it in her head to do something, you can’t stop her.”
Goose forced himself to turn his attention back to the wounded man. Maybe problems didn’t come one at a time, but that was how he had to deal with them.